LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


JUPITER'S  DAUGHTERS 


BY 


MRS.C.JENKIN 


Henry  HOLT&  Co.  Publishe 


New  York 


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From  the  ' 


.■••11  fur  luaiiy  ;i  il.ii." — Jifc/'i'i'iJ  JPlil. 

STRAUSS'  THE    OLD    FAITH    AND    THE    NEW. 

A   I '.wif,  j-;,,ii     *  i!y  David  Fuikdhicii  Strau.^-;.      ■  iifin.r;, ,  .1   i 'im.  ■:.;.. -i   rr.  ■ 
til.  By  MATKn.UK  Blind.     ATiicrioan 

The  iniii.-;  .1!   II  r.  \i-iil  and  partly  rewTitten,  ami  ) 
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wJiieh  a  Jirmcr  s<i!l 


il, 


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iilld." — pp.  '.),  10. 

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the  autlior,  will  make  its  mark  upon  the  time,  not  .-o  nnieh  us  an  iittack  upon  what  v, 
vcjnpralc  a.s  an   npolocry   for  those  who  honestly  differ  ft-om   the  majority  of  th.'ir 
brothers. — Atlantic  Hotilhlu. 


;h- 


RECENT    MUSIC    AND    MUSICIANS,   a.s  described  \v 

the  Diaries  and  Con-espondence  of  Igiiaz  .Moschele.^.    Selected  by  his  v,-'""'^,  -     ' 
adapted  from  the  original  German  by  A.  D.  Colehidoe.     iSrao,  cloth,  $'?.     . 

"Not  only  mu.-<ical  enthusia.st.s,  but  every  one  who  has  the  faintest  glimmer  of  a  lov 
fur  mu.sio  and  art  will  weleome  with  delight  this  vf^unie.     It  is  a  p"r-onal  history   "f 
Tmi.-^ic  for  sixty  years  of  this  centnrj' — full  of  the  names  of  art!-'  nposcrs,  ca  -i 

KH  them  a  centre  of  pleasurable  eniotion.s." — Examiner. 

'•Full  of  pleasant  gossip.     The  di iry  and  letters  between  them  contain  notices  and 
criticisms  on  almo.'^t  evpry   nm-^ical  celebrity  of  the  last  half  century." — Pall   Mull 

I  :-aelte. 


HA.MMER  AND  ANVIL.     By  F.  SpiEi>nAGKN.     IIou.seholil 


Kdition,  ir.-no. 
Litjht.^'     ¥l--' 


PI'; 


"We  have  no  hesiiaiiuii  in   i.roaouncinf;  'llanun.r  and  Anvil"  (.m\ 
masterwork.s  of  fiction  in  any  langiiaKO  of  late  years." — Eveninij  Mail. 


/f   the  great' 


A  TOUR  THROUGH   THE  PYRENEES.    By  Hrrro- 

LTJTE  AdOLPhe  Tai»E,  aiithor  of  "A  History  of  English  Literature,"'  "Travel-;  in 

Italy,"'  etc. 
Having  sold  before  Christmas  the  entire  edition  of  Tame's  PjTonee.s,  ilhistrated  by 
Dore,  the  imblishers  will  now  inunediately  publish  the  text  separately.  It  will  be  in  a 
library  edition,  something  like  the  .=ame  author's  ••  Notes  on  KngUind,""  and  will  be  sold 
ac  not  over  a  quarter  the  price  of  rhe  illustrateil  volume.  It  is  remarl;.vble  that,  in  the 
illiiiitnited  edition,  the  work  of  the  author  has  attracted  possil  ily  more  attention  than  the 
embellishments  of  ih.'  :\rti-r  miil  i.nlili-lir-r^  'llii^  f:i.  r  inilir:u.'.-;  :i  L;!-.'.' s.i!.-  Tor  ilio 
library  edition. 


HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  Publishers,  New  York. 


J.-,}., 


BY   THE   SAME   AUTHOR, 

(Leisure  Hour  Series.) 

WHO   BREAKS— PAYS. 

SKIRMISHING. 

A   PSYCHE   OF  TO-DAY. 

MADAME   DE   BEAUPRfe. 

JUPITER'S   DAUGHTERS. 


^ 


LEISURE      HO  U  R      S E R I E S 


JUPITER'S  Daughters 


A    NOVEL 


BY 

Mrs.     C  .     J  E  N  K I N 

Author  of  "Who  Breaks— Pays,"    "A  Psyche  of  To-day," 
"Skirmishing,"  etc.,  etc. 


NEW      YORK 
HENRY   HOLT   AND    COMPANY 

1874 


FROM     ADVANCE      SHEETS 


MACLAUCnLAN,  Stercotypcr 
50,  58,  aud  60  Park  Street,  New  York. 


i 


CONTENTS 


FJLRT   I. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— St.  Gloi 7 

II. — New  Master  and  Old  Servants 13 

III.  — Intense  Good  Sense 19 

IV. — We  shaU  see  what  wUl  come  of  it 27 

V. — Foreshadowings 37 

VI. — A  First  Sunday  at  Ste.  Marie,  and  SusiJicion 

lulled 44 

VII. — Discoveries — ending  with  a  Conflagration. ...  57 

VIIL— Who  was  Last  now  First   67 

IX. — A  Liliputian  Vengeance 77 

X.— The  Ideal 87 

XI. — The  Consequences  of  not  doing  as  Others  do. .  95 

XII. — Madame  Rendu  to  the  Rescue 1C8 

XIII. — Jacta  alea  est 113 

XIV. — Bonne  Maman  Adversary  and  Partisan 120 

XV. — French  Custom  since  Adam  delved 128 

XVI.— The  Great  "  Yes  " 137 


I»A.E.T   II. 

I. — A  Domestic  Treasure 149 

II. — Stephanie's  Discoveries 158 

III.— A  French  Play 108 


^>#>rT,or>A 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

rV.— Painful  Realities 176 

v.— A  First  Warning 183 

YI.— On  the  Qui  Vive 1«8 

VII.— Gossip 195 

VIII. — Measuring  a  Lance  with  Society 203 

IX. — Speculations 210 

X.— Played— and  Lost 221 

XI.— Bon  Secours 237 

XIL— The  Crash  of  Life 247 

XIII.— One  of  Life's  Tangles 253 

XIV. — Nought's  had  when  all  is  done 259 

XV. — Pathways  here  divide 204 

XVL— Dark  Hours 272 

XVIL— Two  Ways  of  looking  at  Things 277 


JUPITER'S    DAUGHTERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


ST.    GLOI. 


"  Calme  petite  ville,  oh  t-ai-je  deja  vue  ? 
Dans  quel  rove,  ou  dans  quel  pays  ?  " 

A.  TnEtJRrET. 

In  the  spring  of  1866  M.  Eugene  Delanoy 
died.  His  death  was  an  event  that  had  been 
daily  looked  for  during  the  last  ten  years; 
yet  when  it  occurred  it  took  every  one  by  sur- 
prise. 

M.  Delanoy  had  been  an  old  man  as  long 
as  any  of  his*^  neighbors  could  remember  him ; 
nay,  he  was  generally  believed  by  them  to 
have  passed  his  hundredth  year.  He  had 
lived  in  complete  seclusion  at  this  Chateau  de 
Sept  Ormes  ever  since  he  first  came  thither ; 
seeing  no  one,  returning  no  visits,  and  holdr 
ing  no  communication  with  the  town,  except 
through  his  two  servants,  as  old  and  eccentric 
as  himself.  As  he  had  lived,  so  he  died,  with- 
out either  friend,  or  priest,  or  doctor, 


8  jtipitek's  dattghtees. 

M.  Delanoy's  death  disturbed  St.  Gloi, 
though  it  had  long  ceased  to  take  any  interest 
in  his  life.  In  that  far-away  district  religion 
still  held  her  own  ;  and  a  death  unsoothed  and 
unblessed  by  the  Church  distressed  many  good 
souls,  and  scandalized  even  the  indifferent. 
Old  stories  were  revived  of  his  having  been  a 
member  of  the  Convention— an  abettor  of  Bar- 
rere's  cruelties ;  for  rumor  seldom  troubles 
herself  with  dates  or  probabilities.  It  was 
whispered,  then  affirmed,  that  he  had  left  in- 
structions that  he  was  to  be  buried  without  any 
relio-ious  ceremonv — enterrS  civilement :  that 
after  having  lived  like  an  atheist,  he  was  to  be 
buried  like  a  dog.  Luckily,  the  old  gentle- 
man's notary  arrived  from  Paris,  and  the  town 
was  edified  by  a  funeral  sanctified  by  all  the 
pomp  of  the  Church. 

The  St.  Gloisians,  as  was  natural,  felt  an 
ardent  curiosity  about  M.  Delanoy's  property. 
AVhat  had  he  left,  and  to  whom  had  he  left  it  ? 
Was  there  more  than  the  Chateau,  its  depend- 
encies, and  an  adjoining  vineyard  ? 

The  Paris  notary  was  not,  seemingly,  unwill- 
ing to  speak  of  the  affairs  of  his  late  client. 
Why  should  he,  when  they  were  in  a  prosper- 
ous state? 

He  therefore  made  it  known  that  the  heir 
was  a  distant  cousin — a  M.  de  Saye — at  that 
moment  in  Italy  or  Greece  ;  in  fact,  travelling 
for  his  pleasure.  M.  de  Saye  was  young — a 
year  or  two  under  thirty,  unmarried,  holding 
no  place  under  Government,  of  no  profession, 


ST.    GLOI.  y 

had,  in  one  word,  been  waiting  to  sncceed  to 
his  cousin.  There  arc  some  people,  who,  with 
a  sembUince  of  inlinite  frankness,  conceal  as 
much  as  they  please.  They  seem  to  make  no 
mystery,  to  bo  not  the  least  reticent,  and  yet 
leave  you  as  little  informed  as  they  deem  fit. 
In  the  end,  this  pleasant  Paris  lawyer  carried 
away  with  him.  much  more  information  than 
he  had  given.  He  had  made  himself  ac- 
quainted pretty  accurately  with  the  affairs  of 
the  leadino;  families — knew  the  fio-m-e  of  the 
dowries  of  their  daughters,  information  to  be 
imparted  to  M.  de  Saye,  and  other  clients  on 
the  lookout  for  eligible  wives  or  daughters-in- 
law. 

St.  Gloi  is  neither  rich  nor  aristocratic,  but 
it  is  a  thriving  and  most  respectable  third-rate 
town.  At  the  head  of  society  are  the  Rend  us 
— rentiei'S,  that  is,  living  on  their  dividends, 
and  quite  retired  from  business  ;  the  Joreys, 
iron-masters ;  the  Cham  bauds,  large  wine- 
growers ;  the  Belairs,  bankers,  and  a  great 
wood-merchant. 

St.  Gloi,  not  being  a  chief  town,  had  but  a 
secondary  set  of  Government  officials,  who 
counted  for  nothing  with  the  Rendus  and 
Joreys.  In  addition,  there  were  some  young 
men  in  the  lower  o-i-ades  of  the  ma!]i;istracy — a 
career  always  betokening  some  private  fortune 
— and  the  necessary  complement  of  advocates, 
solicitors,  and  notaries. 

The  St.  Gloisians  adored  their  native  place, 
and  it  was  bv  no  means  unusual  to  hear  them 
1* 


10  JUPITER  S   DAUGIITEES. 

give  it  the  preference  over  Paris.  Xeverthe 
less,  thej  were  intensely  patriotic,  and  excnsed 
the  morals  of  the  capital  bj  asserting  that  all 
the  vice  flonrishing  there  was  of  foreign 
growth,  for  wliich  they  thanked  Providence. 
The  ladies  had  a  sincere  veneration  for  the 
Bishop  of  Orleans.  They  had  read  his  first 
and  second  letter  on  the  education  of  women  ; 
they  preferred  and  held  to  the  advice  in  the 
second.  Lon<x  before  Monseigneur  had  conn- 
soiled  the  bringing  np  of  girls  on  the  knees 
of  the  Chnrch,  the  mothers  of  St.  Gloi  had 
acted  on  that  system.  As  a  rule,  the  young 
girls  of  St.  Gl<)i  were  educated  at  the  convent 
of  the  Dames  Dominicaines,  a  convent  witliin 
the  precincts  of  the  town.  Madame  Rendu  fur- 
nished the  exception  by  sending  her  only  child, 
Panline,  to  the  Sacrc  Coeur,  in  Paris. 

Old  Madame  Jorey,  Pauline's  godmother, 
had  remonstrated,  and  the  two  young  Mes- 
dames  Jorey  had  shaken  their  heads,  but  only 
when  out  of  sight  of  Madame  Rendu.  "  It  is 
best  to  abide  by  old  ways,"  said  the  old  lady. 
"  See  what  has  been  the  consequence  of  new 
ones.  Scarcely  possible  to  satisfy  workpeople  ; 
servants  think  themselves  equal  to  their  masters 
and  mistresses  ;  money  does  not  go  so  far,  and 
we  are  fairly  devoured  and  deteriorated  by  the 
influx  of  foreigners."  Madame  Rendu  an- 
swered once  for  all  by  pointing  to  that  passage 
in  Monseigneur's  letter  which  counsels  cultiva- 
tion of  talents  as  a  help  for  women  scarcely 
less  efficacious  than  religion.     Pauline  had  a 


ST.    GLOI.  11 

decided  talent  for  miisje  and  drawing,  and  her 
mother  would  not  have  them  wrapped  np  or 
buried. 

The  Mesdames  Jorey  held  to  tlieir  opinion, 
and  said  among  their  intimates,  "  We  shall  see 
what  will  come  of  it." 

However,  when  Pauline  returned  home,  no 
one  could  discover  that  she  was  a  whit  the 
worse  for  her  sojourn  in  the  Pai-is  convent. 
ISTowhei'C  could  you  see  more  frank  eyes,  a 
mouth  more  innocent.  She  was  like  a  fine 
clear  sky — full  of  promise ;  modest,  not  shy  ; 
willing  to  please,  not  anxious  to  shine  ;  nothing 
apparent  that  would  lead  you  to  imagine  there 
were  any  finer  elements  in  her  character  than 
in  those  surrounding  her  ;  nothing  to  militate 
against  her  doing  as  other  girls  did,  and 
as  she  was  expected  to  do — marry  the  man 
chosen  by  her  parents,  have  her  trip  to  Paris, 
visit  the  Palais-Poyal  Theatre  (that  ambition 
of  month-old  matrons),  buy  new  furniture  to 
last  a  lifetime,  and  return  home,  at  the  end  of 
six  weeks,  to  settle  down  into  a  careful  house- 
wife. 


12  Jupiter's  daughtees. 


CHAPTE'E  II. 

NEW  MASTER   AND    OLD    SERVANTS. 

It  was  in  the  beginning  of  June  that  M. 
Delanoy's  heir  arrived  at  the  Chateau  de  Sept 
Ormes.  lie  came  aecom|ianied  by  a  friend, 
not  even  a  Paris  valet  to  disturb  the  equa- 
nimity of  his  uncle's  two  old  servants,  Eloque 
and  Gonde.  They  were  not  man  and  wife,  but 
Eloque  was  nevertheless  completely  under  pet- 
ticoat government.  It  was  said,  though  who 
first  said  it  was  never  known,  that  Eloque  had 
a  keen  sensibility  to  rosy  cheeks  and  smart  fig- 
ures, which  often  brought  him  into  trouble. 

Gonde,  looking  forward  to  a  prolongation  of 
her  reign,  took  care  that  tlie  first  dinner  she 
served  to  her  new  master  should  be  in  her 
best  style. 

"  What  a  chance  to  find  such  a  cook  in  this 
banishment ! "  said  M.  Vilpont,  Gaston's  guest. 
^^  Hon  cher,  I  shall  probably  prolong  my 
visit ;  "  adding  in  a  lower  tone,  "  Suppose  you 
seek  information  about  any  other  amenities  at- 
tached to  your  inheritance  ? " 

Gaston  followed  up  the  suggestion  by  open- 
ing a  conversation  with  Eloque. 

"We  saw  several  charming  ladies  this  after- 
noon as  we  drove  through  the  town." 


NEW    ilASTER   AND    OLD    SERVANTS.  13 

Eloqne  grinned,  and  answered,  "  Comme  9a, 


monsieur.' 


"  Do  tliey  entei'tain  much  here  ? "  asked 
Yilpont. 

"  Comme  9a,  monsieur." 

"  Any  cliateaux  near  enough  for  visiting?" 

Eloque  grinned  and  shook  his  head. 

For  Eloque,  the  neighboring  Chateau  of  Ste. 
Marie  did  not  exist,  inhabited  as  it  was  by 
Madame  Jorey,  widc)W  of  a  manufacturer. 

At  an  interview  w^ith  Gonde  the  next  morn- 
ing the  two  young  men  were  indemnified  for 
Eloque's  taciturnity.  Gonde  knew  everything 
about  everybody,  and  was  read}^  to  tell  all  she 
knew.  If  you  were  to  be)Ieve  her,  there  were 
not  five  just  men  in  St.  Gloi.  According  to 
her,  every  one  of  the  fine  stone  hcmses  on  the 
Boulevard  concealed  a  crime.  "  Where  there's 
money,  there's  always  a  covering  for  sin," 
quotli  she. 

"  Thank  God,"  said  De  fSaye,  "  we  saw  some 
pretty  little  girls  not  old  enough  to  be  crim- 
inals! " 

"  Pretty  !  does  monsieur  call  Pauline  Rendu 
and  the  Joreys  pretty?  To  be  sure,  Pauline 
will  have  millions  for  her  dowry." 

"  Are  young  ladies  called  by  their  Christian 
names  by  everybody  here  ''i  "  inquired  Vilpont, 
with  a  glance  of  the  eye  that  angered  while  it 
quelled  Gonde  for  the  moment. 

"Why  not?"  said  the  old  woman,  with  an 
attempt  at  excuse — "her  grandfather  was  just 


14:  Jupiter's  daughtees. 

one  of  lis.  They  say  he  '  lent  hy  the  loeeJc^ 
during  the  great  troubles." 

"  And  the  others  you  named  ?  " 

"  Oh !  monsieur  means  the  Joreys.  They 
make  the  bhie  cloth  for  blouses.  The  father 
has  had  one  lit ;  and  when  he  goes,  the  girls  (I 
mean  the  young  ladies)  won't  have  millions. 
They  burn  the  caudle  at  both  ends,  monsieur 
and  madame.  Monsieur  eats  and  drinks,  and 
madauie  dresses.  Last  new  year  monsieur  took 
the  stick  to  madame  because  she  bought  a 
gown  with  the  money  he  had  given  her  for 
the  pastry-cook.  But,"  said  Gonde,  suddenl}^ 
changiug  the  subject,  "Eloque  and  I  beg 
monsieur  to  say  when  he  expects  his  new  ser- 
vants." 

De  Saye  was  amazed.  "  Why,  my  good 
lady,  I  thought  you  were  both  fixtures  here  ? " 

Gonde  lauglied  sarcastically.  "  Oh  !  not  at 
all,  monsieur.  We  are  both  tired  of  service ; 
we  have  saved  something,  and  my  niece  at 
Lyons  offers  me  a  room  in  her  house.  One 
must  liave  some  quiet  years  to  make  one's  sal- 
vation {faire  son  salut).  As  soon  as  monsieur 
could  suit  himself,  Gonde  and  Eloque  would 
be  glad  to  leave.  St.  Gloi  was  not  their 
country ;  they  had  only  stayed  fr(;m  affection 
for  M.  Delanoy." 

"You  disappoint  me,"  said  Gaston.  "I 
shall  bi'cak  my  hoai't  to  lose  you — such  an 
illimitable  cook  as  you  arc!  Besides,  I  meant 
to  have  left  the  Cliateau  in  your  care;  for  you 
understand,  I  am  not  going  to  live  here  all  the 


NEW   MASTER   AND   OLD    SERVANTS.  15 

year  throngli.  However,  I  respect  your  wishes. 
Yonr  going  will  depeud  on  yourself.  Find  me 
trustworthy  persons  to  take  your  place ;  till 
then  I  hope  3'ou  have  too  good  a  heart  to  leave 
a  poor  young  man  without  any  one  to  care  for 
hira.  I  shall  get  into  all  manner  of  scrapes 
without  you  to  advise  me." 

Gaston  said  all  this  with  such  a  grave  face 
that  Gonde  was  half  inclined  to  believe  that 
he  had  taken  her  in  earnest,  in  whicli  case  she 
must  modify  her  declaration. 

"  Monsieur  judged  her  rightly.  She  was  not 
one  to  do  an  unhandsome  thing ;  but  she  and 
Eloque  were  old  to  be  the  servants  of  a  young 
master,  and  if  monsieur  had  thoughts  of  mar- 
rying—" 

Gaston  stopped  her — "Fate  still  holds  a 
veil  over  the  date  of  that  terrible  event,  my 
provident  Gondo — an  event  still  more  alarm- 
ing for  me  than  for  you.  I  will  give  you  fair 
warning.  It  wouldn't  do  to  make  my  bride 
jealous  ;  so  let  it  be  understood  that  your  mar- 
riage or  mine  alone  parts  us." 

"  I  like  that  Gaston,"  said  Gonde  to  Eloque  ; 
"but  they'll  give  him  no  peace  till  he  is  mar- 
ried. If  he  has  any  faith  in  me,  it  won't  be  in 
St.  Gloi  he  will  choose  a  wife." 

M.  de  Saye  paid  a  hundred  visits  in  the 
course  of  that  week.  It  is  the  cnstc^m  in 
France  for  new-comers  to  take  the  first  steps 
towards  acquaintance,  and  Do  Saye  was 
sociable  by  nature. 

"  Remember,"    he    said    to    Vilpont,    who 


16  Jupiter's  daughters. 

laughed  at  his  ardor,  "as  a  neighbor  and 
proprietoi',  it  is  my  interest  to  be  civiL  Some 
future  day  I  may  wish  to  come  forv/ard  as 
deputy." 

lie  found  Gonde  really  an  invaluable  ally. 
The  little  old  woman  gave  him  not  only  the 
names  of  all  the  notables,  but  supplied  him 
with  such  notes  of  their  private  history  as 
would  pilot  him  safely  through  the  rocks  and 
shoals  of  first  visits.  Ninety-nine  of  these  were 
of  a  uniform  tint.  All  the  salons,  and  all  the 
ladies  in  them,  were  alike;  conversation  and 
min-ors,  dress,  and  tables  and  chairs  of  one 
pattern  ;  no  books  visible  ;  reading  was  consid- 
ered in  St.  Gloi  as  loss  of  time.  If  women 
read  at  all,  it  was  unavowable  feuilletons  in 
secret  conclave. 

The  hundredth  visit,  the  one  exception,  was 
that  for  Madame  Rendu.  First  of  all,  she  was 
not  dressed  for  the  occasion;  then  what  she 
said  was  at  variance  with  the  formal  and  com- 
plimentary tone  of  the  other  ninety-and-nine 
calls.  She  was  as  little  encouraging  as  possible 
to  M.  de  Saye ;  while  as  to  Vilpont,  all  the 
notice  she  bestowed  on  him  were  two  stiff  bows 
— one  on  his  entering,  one  on  his  departing. 
Every  one  else  had  striven,  by  insinuating 
questions,  to  know  who  Vilpout  was — why  he 
was  at  St.  Gloi,  and  when  he  was  going  away. 
The  explanation  that  he  was  on  a  friendly  visit 
to  M.  de  Saye  would  have  satisfied  any  but  the 
dwellers  in  a  small  pi'ovincial  town.  They  did 
not  understand  friendship;  they  only  under- 


NEW   MASTER   AND   OLD    SERVANTS.  17 

stood  relationsliip.  "A  snake  in  the  grass" 
was  a  prett}'  £i|;eneral  opinion. 

Madame  llendu  gave  herself  no  trouble 
about  Vilpont,  either  as  to  who  he  was  or  what 
might  be  his  motives  for  staying.  De  Saje 
was  another  matter.  She  was  aware  that  she 
should  be  forced  to  think  of  him  ^  from  that 
there  was  no  hope  of  escape,  unless,  indeed,  he 
was  already  an  engaged  man,  which  she  de- 
voutly lioped  might  be  the  case. 

Even  while  he  was  sitting  opposite  to  her, 
doing  his  best  to  be  agreeable  to  this  difficult 
woman,  she  was  meditating  how  to  ward  off 
his  visits.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  keep 
M.  de  Saye  at  arm's-length  until  she  was  cer- 
tain that  he  could  fulfil  the  conditions  she 
should  require  in  a  son-in-law\ 

Vilpont  sat  smiling  and  amused,  watching 
his  friend's  efforts  to  please,  and  criticising  his 
courteous  speeches,  which  all  fell  short,  like 
spent  bulls.  As  they  were  leaving  the  room, 
Vilpont's  eye  was  caught  by  a  landscape  in 
water-colors — a  beech-tree  overhanging  a  deep 
pool,  and  a  sunny  distance. 

"  A  clever  sketcli,"  he  said ;  and  going 
nearer  to  it,  he  saw  the  name  Pauline  in  a  cor- 
ner, and  a  date. 

Madame  llendu  took  no  notice  of  the  obser- 
A^ation. 

The  two  men  drew  a  long  breath  as  they 
issued  from  the  house. 

"  What  a  terrible  mother-in-law  !  "  exclaimed 
Yiipont ;  adding,  "  Gaston,  I  pity  you." 


18  Jupiter's  daughters. 

"  She  is  solidly  respectable,"  returned  the 
other ;  '•  and  that  sort  of  woman  has  not  a  bad 
effect  iu  a  family." 

"  Not  when  she  has  a  daughter  with  a  fort- 
une of  a  million." 

Gaston  shruo-wed  his  shoulders. 

" '  Sooner  or  later  one  must  makeTan  end. 
This  idiom  means  one  must  marry." 

"  Bon  voyage,"  laughed  Vilpont. 

Gonde  questioned  Eloque  every  day  as  to 
what  the  gentlemen  talked  of  at  dinner ;  but 
Eloque  had  nothing  to  tell. 

"  They  never,"  he  said,  "  spoke  of  any  one  in 
St.  Gloi." 

Nor  was  Gonde  herself  more  lucky  in  her 
listenings  at  doors  or  her  interviews  with  Gas- 
ton ;  but  she  had  formed  her  own  opinion  of 
her  new  master's  character. 

"  If  he  marries  Pauline  Rendu,  he'll  never 
know  again  what  it  is  to  hav^e  his  own  way." 

Eloque  silenced  her  by  one  of  his  preter- 
natural grins. 


INTENSE    GOOD    SENSE.  19 

CHAPTER  III. 

INTENSE     GOOD     SENSE. 

Every  one  who  knows  the  habits  of  pro- 
vincial towns  will  feel  sure  that  De  Saje's 
visits  would  be  fruitful  of  other  visits.  The 
friends  had  not  left  Madame  Rendu  ten  min- 
utes when  Madame  Chambaud  was  announced. 
Pauline,  and  her  friends  Stephanie  and  Julie 
Jorej,  seeing  her  pass,  said  at  once,  "  Now 
they  are  going  to  talk  marriage." 

Madame  Rendu,  who  thought  the  same,  left 
the  initiative  to  Madame  "Chambaud,  and 
stretching  her  small  person  at  full  length  on  a 
sofa,  exclaimed,  "  How  easily  tired  I  am  now ! 
What  it  is  to  grow  old  !  " 

Madame  Chambaud  smiled,  saying,  "  At 
forty-iive  a  woman  may  still  have  some  pre- 
tensions. 

"  As  to  that,  I  prefer  to  be  the  woman  of 
to-morrow  rather  than  the  woman  of  yester- 
day ;  age  depends  on  character.  I  was  boru 
old." 

The  visitor  shrugged  her  shoulders  flatter- 
ingly. Almost  evei-y  one  flattered  Madame 
Rendu,  for  no  reason  but  that  she  was  rich, 
richer  than  the  people  who  visited  her.  It 
was  a  real  disinterested  homage  i)aid  to  wealth. 
"  You,  with  your  income,"  or  ''  When  one's 
name     stands     before    seven    figures,    quite 


20  Jupiter's  daughteks. 

another  thing  for  poor  me,"  were  speeclies  con- 
stantly saluting  Madame  Eendu's  ear.  And 
though  she  said,  "  Ah  !  nion  Dieu  !  "  as  if  the 
announcement  were  an  accusation,  and  though 
she  despised  the  flatterers,  she  was  tickled  by 
the  flattery. 

Before  speaking  further,  Madame  Cham- 
baud  glanced  at  a  door  communicating  with 
an  inner  room. 

"  She  is  in  the  garden  with  her  inseparables, 
the  Joreys." 

"  I  hear  that  Pauline  is  teachino;  them  Ger- 
man,  and  she  knows  Italian  also.  You  have 
educated  her,  dear  lady,  for  another  sphere 
than  our  poor  town  can  offer." 

"  I  hope  her  education  has  prepared  her  to 
be  a  good  wife  anywhere.  The  only  way  to 
keep  women  out  of  mischief  is  to  teach  them  to 
occupy  themselves  agreeably.  That  has  ijeen 
our  aim  in  all  we  have  done.  Rendu  and  I 
are  of  one  mind  on  that  subject,  and  as  for 
other  ])eople's  opinions—" 

"  I  have  always  heard  you  praised  for  your 
way  of  educating  Pauline,"  interrupted  Ma- 
dame Chambaud. 

"  As  to  that,  I  don't  know ;  bnt  no  doubt  I 
am  criticised  just  as  severely  as  my  neighbors," 
replied  Madame  Rendu,  who,  having  a  good 
deal  of  the  strong  personality  of  the  purse- 
proud,  walked  over  her  acquaintances  (with 
her  tongue)  without  remorse. 

In  France  there  are  many  ladies,  even  gi'eat 
ladies,  who  take  on  themselves  the  ofEce  of  a 


INTENSE   GOOD   SENSE.  21 

matrimonial  a_o:ent.  It  is  common  enough  to 
hear  it  said,  "  Madame  Such-a-one  made  that 
marriage." 

It  is  a  disinterested  service,  the  love  of  art 
for  art.  Madame  Cliambaud  was  one  of  these 
matcli-makers.  It  was  she,  who,  with  infinite 
tact,  had  made  the  elderly  Vicomte  de  Trois 
Etoiles  marry  Euphemie  Devrient,  after  she 
had  reached  the  fatal  age  of  thirty. 

It  was  Madame  Cliambaud  who  had  mar- 
ried a  shipowner,  fabulously  wealthy,  to  little 
Ernestine  Loanet,  whom  Madame  Nature  had 
made  ugly,  but  whom  Madame  Chamband, 
mdliners  and  coiffeurs,  had  transformed  into  a 
piquante  brunette,  the  rage  for  a  season  be- 
fore and  after  her  marriage.  Both  Madame 
Chand)aud's  _7^rc^e'^6^es  did  her  honor.  Ma- 
dame la  Vicomtesse  was  at  the  head  of  various 
pious  and  charitable  societies,  and  enjoyed  the 
counsels  of  the  most  famed  of  directors.  The 
shipowner's  wafe  had  taken  another  course. 
She  had  doffed  hei-  pretensions  to  beauty  and 
fashion,  and  was  now  a  femme  politique  with 
a  salon^  which  was  a  rendezvous  for  the  leaders 
of  the  Opposition. 

We  all  have  some  idlent  which  enables  ns 
to  do  some  one  thing  better  than  others.  Ma- 
dame Cliambaud  had  decided  that  her  talent 
lay  in  marrying  people.  Once  engaged  in  her 
vocation,  her  life  became  full  of  interes.t. 
She  was  always,  as  it  were,  in  the  third  volume 
of  an  exciting  novel.  Her  new  heroine  was 
to  be  Pauline  Rendu.     She  had,  ever  since 


22  Jupiter's  daughtees.  ' 

Pauline's  coming  home,  tm-ned  over  in  her 
mind  all  the  young  men  of  the  department. 
There  were  the  sons  of  tlie  tAvo  deputies; 
the  only  son  and  child  of  a  great  manufact- 
urer ;  the  substitute  of  the  Procureur-Impe- 
rial,  a  young  man  belonging  to  old  nobility ; 
and  lastly  the  newly  aj^pointed  Juge  d'ln- 
struction.  But  one  was  too  young  ;  another 
too  old ;  there  was  suspicion  of  consumption 
in  the  family  of  a  third  ;  the  fourth  had  as- 
sumed a  de  that  was  subject  to  doubt ;  the 
fifth  was  in  every  point  unsuitable. 

M.  Delanoy's  heir  was  the  oiseau  hhu  sent 
by  a  kind  Providence  to  marry  Pauline  Kendu. 
Age,  looks,  fortune,  position,  all  as  if 
provided  by  special  interposition.  She  only 
hoped  that  Pauline's  mother  might  see  all 
these  advantages  as  clearly  as  others  did. 
Feeling  thus,  and  in  no  way  abashed  by  her 
rich  friend's  abruptness,  Madame  (Jhambaud 
went  on  complacently — 

"  Curious  that  ]\[.  de  Saye  is  not  yet  mar- 
ried— he  looks  thirty." 

"  Probal)ly  he  waited  for  the  old  man's 
death  to  be  able  to  marry  ;  these  sons  of  fam- 
ily have  seldom  much  besides  their  name." 

"  "Well,  that  is  something,  particularly  now- 
adays." 

'•  Not  my  way  of  thinking,"  replied  Ma- 
dame Pendu.  "  My  dau<i:hter  has  not  l^een 
brought  up  to  endure  privations,  and  her  fort- 
une will  not  be  large  enough  during  our  life- 
time to  make  up  for  want  of   money  in  her 


INTENSE    GOOD    SENSE.  23 

husband.  However,  as  I  do  not  intend  that 
Pauline  should  marry  before  her  majority,  the 
age  at  M'hich  I  myself  married,  I  have  time 
for  consideration." 

"  What  a  sensible  woman  you  are  !  Really, 
even  knowing  you  so  well  as  I  do,  3^ou  astonish 
me.  Few  mothers — indeed,  I  may  say  none, 
in  St.  Gloi  are  at  this  moment  thinking  like 
you  ;  for  instance,  Madame  Maloteau." 

"  I  should  be  delighted  to  hear  of  Isabelle's 
marriage  to  M.  de  Saye.  It  is  time  she  was 
njarried  ;  she  is  four-and-twenty." 

Madame  Chamimud  paid  several  visits  after 
leaving  Madame  Rendu,  and  did  not  deny 
herself  the  pleasure  of  expatiating  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Mademoiselle  Rendu's  dowry. 

The  simple  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from 
what  Madame  Chambaud  reported  was  that 
the  Rendus  did  not  intend  to  open  their  purse 
very  wide  at  the  young  lady's  marriage. 

"  Quite  right,"  said  some  ;  "  expectations 
are  what  make  good  sons-in-law." 

"  J3ut  M.  and"  Mme.  Rendu  may  live  these 
thirty  or  even  forty  years,"  observed  the  Juge 
d'  Instruction. 

"  Yes,  it's  long  to  wait,"  replied  another 
young  man. 

The  Chief  of  the  Indirect  Taxes  was  Ma- 
dame Rendu's  next  visitor.  He  had  been  one 
of  the  listeners  to  Madame  Chambaud's  re- 
port. He  was  one  of  your  cordial  men.  He 
began — 

"  Ha,  ha!  my  dear  lady;  here  is  just  what 


24  Jupiter's  daughtees. 

jon  require,  landed  at  your  A^ery  door — young, 
handsome,  well-born,  and  destined  for  a  pref- 
ecture." 

"  Then  yon  have  not  seen  INfadarae  Cham- 
baud,"  replied  Madame  Rendu  dryly.  "  I  have 
recommended  her  to  make  a  match  between 
Isabelle  Maloteau  and  M.  de  Saye." 

"  Seriously  ? " 

"  Very  seriously.  We  look  for  a  fortune  at 
least  equal  to  that  of  Pauline." 

"  And  that  is—  ? " 

"  Imagine !  Rendu  has  never  told  me  how 
much ;  but  I  fancy  M.  de  Saye  would  full 
short  of  our  mark." 

The  Chief  of  the  Indirect  Taxes  went  away, 
saying  to  himself,  "  Clever  woman — sharp,  but 
liard ;  a  wonderful  clear  sight.  Ah !  poor 
Rendu  !  " 

The  youno;  ladies  had  been  discussing  the 
same  matters  from  their  point  of  view. 

There  could  be  no  disputing  that  M.  de 
Saye  was  handsome ;  it  was  a  self-evident 
fact.  Ilis  friend  Vilpont  was,  on  the  con- 
trary, open  to  criticism.  lie  was  one  of  those 
men  whose  appearance  was  suggestive  of 
numy  readings,  according  to  the  age  and  ex- 
perience of  the  reader.  He  had  fine  dark 
eyes,  deeply  set ;  a  thin,  narrow  face,  and  a 
long  nose.  Tlio  mouth,  that  betrayer  of  char- 
acter, was  hidden  by  a  thick  moustache.  He 
was  tall,  of  a  wiry  figure,  and  stooped  slightly. 

Of  him  Mademoiselle  Jorey  said,  "  He  looks 
like  a  priest." 


INTENSE    GOOD   SENSE.  25 

"  M.  de  Saye  reminds  me  of  the  heads  in 
hairdressers'  shops,"  retorted  Panline. 

"  Every  one  savs  he  is  just  the  riglit  hnsband 
for  you,"  observed  Julio. 

"J  won't  have  him.  I  dislike  him  already. 
Besides,  I  heard  mamma  say  he  would  suit 
Isabelle  Maloteau." 

"  I  see  what  will  happen,"  continued  Julie. 
"  Pauline  will  refuse  every  one  because  of 
that  ideal  she  saw  in  Paris." 

"  True ;  I  must  wait  till  I  find  out  if  he  is 
married." 

"  But  you  may  never  see  him  again.  And 
if  you  do,  and  find  he  is  already  married, 
what  will  you  do  '^  " 

"  Then,  I  suppose,  I  must  do  like  the 
rest." 

"  Papa  had  an  offer  for  one  of  us,"  said 
Stephanie.  "  It  seems  it  did  not  matter  which 
— not  very  flattering.  It  came  through  Ma- 
dame— you  know  who.  The  name  of  the  gen- 
tleman was  not  to  be  mentioned  unless  one  of 
us  agreed  to  accept  him  ;  for  he  did  not  reV.sh 
its  being  known  he  had  been  refused.  Rich 
and  young,  madame  said.  As  his  business 
was  in  Russia,  of  course  we  said  no.  We 
found  out  afterwards  who  it  was,  and  I  ca.\ld 
not  have  endured  him.  Only  suppose  I  had 
said  Yes ! " 

"You  might  have  come  to  like  him,"  said 

Julie.     "  Claire  refused   M.  Kogent— at  least, 

the  letter  of  refusal  was  written — and  then  she 

said   she  would  see   him   once  more,  and   it 

2 


26  Jupiter's  daughters. 

ended  in  her  marrying ;  and  now  she  tells 
every  one  she  adores  him." 

"  I  dare  say  we  shall  all  l^egin  in  the  same 
way,"  said  Stephanie.  "  If  Pauline  will  not 
have  M.  de  Save,  1  should  not  wonder  if  he 
were  offered  to  one  of  us !  " 

"  I  hope  he  will  raai-ry  Isabelle  Malotean, 
and  save  us  all  trouble,"  said  Pauline. 

"  I  think  he  is  "rood  enouo-h  for  the  best  of 
us,"  retorted  Stephanie. 

"  Then  marry  him  yourself,"  laughed  Pau- 
line.    "  I  promise  you  my  blessing." 

Madame  Rendu's  voice  calling  out,  "  Young 
ladies ! "  put  a  peaceable  end  to  a  dangerous 
discussion. 


WE   8HALL   SEE    WHAT   WILL    COME   OF   IT.     27 


CHAPTER  lY. 


WE    SHALL    SEE    WHAT    WILL    COME    OF    IT. 

The  staOTiant  waters  of  life  were  distasteful 
to  Madame  Chambaud,  and  no  place  luid  a 
more  complete  coatinrr  of  stagnation  than  re- 
spectable St.  Gloi.  Destiny  loves  contradic- 
tions. The  active  find  themselves  in  a  posi- 
tion whei'c  tliere  are  no  legitimate  openings 
for  their  activity  ;  while  the  dnll,  or  the  lovers 
of  quiet,  are  plunged  into  a  vortex  which 
destroys  their  peace  of  mind. 

What  a  godsend,  then,  for  n)isplaced  Ma- 
dame Chaml)and,  was  the  arrival  of  a  hand- 
some, nnmarried,  tolerably  well-off  young  man, 
within  a  stone's-throw  of  the  octroi  of  the 
town  ! 

Madame  Rendu  might  like  it  or  not,  but 
Madame  Chambaud  was  not  going  to  give  up 
her  projects.  Whether  it  failed  or  whether  it 
succeeded,  the  hatching  of  it  would  be  amus- 
ing. Match-making  to  her  was  what  flirtation 
is  to  younger  women. 

Though  one  dinner  painfully  resembled 
another — the  same  dishes,  the  same  guests,  the 
same  conversation,  nourished  entirely  on  local 
gossip — nevertheless,  an  invitation  never  failed 
to  raise  a  ripple  on  the  Dead  Sea  of  the  society 
of  St.  Gloi.     The  ripples  became  waves  when 


28  Jupiter's  daugiitees. 

M.  and  Mme.  Cliambaud  sent  out  cards  for  a 
dinner  which  no  one  doubted  was  given  in 
honor  of  M.  de  Saye. 

Madame  Kendu  at  once  proposed  to  send  an 
apology, 

"  Wiiy  should  we  refuse  ?  "  asked  M.  Rendu. 

And  Pauline  exclaimed — 

"  We  have  only  been  out  twice  since  N^ew 
Year's  Day,  and  this  is  June ! " 

Madame  made  no  direct  reply.     She  said — 

"  You  have  nothino-  fresh  to  wear  :  and  it  is 
throwing  money  away  to  buy  dresses  to  let 
them  grow  shabby  in  wardrobes." 

"  White  muslin  washes  and  wears  forever," 
urged  Pauline. 

"  There  is  no  time  to  get  a  new  dress  made  ; 
and  if  I  did  order  one,  it  would  be  the  town- 
talk." 

"  We  could  get  one  from  Paris,  mamma. 
We  have  only  to  write  to  Madame  Roger." 

"  No  gossi])ing  then  with  the  Joreys." 

Pauline  did  not  need  a  second  bidding. 
When  she  showed  her  note  to  her  mother, 
Madame  Rendu  remarked — 

"  What  French  ! — as  clear  as  Cliinese  !  The 
ladies  of  the  Sacrc  Coeur  liave  not  taught  you 
to  express  yourself  in  your  own  language." 

"  Chhre  maman^  do  you  think  we  ever  had 
to  write  about  dress  and  ribbons  ?  You 
praised  my  themes  on  religion  and  morals ; 
now  didn't  you  ?" 

Madame  Rendu  put  Pauline  on  one  side, 
and  wrote  herself  to  Madame  Roger. 


WE    SHALL    SEE    WHAT   WILL    COME    OF    IT,     29 

The  Charabaiids  received  no  excuses;  every 
one  accepted.     Two  strangers — what  a  boon  ! 

At  the  dhmer,  all  the  at  entions  were  for  De 
Saye.  lie  sat  on  the  right  of  his  hostess,  and 
on  his  other  hand  was  Madame  Rendu,  a  dip- 
lomatic move  of  Madame  Chambaud. 

As  for  Yilpont,  merely  invited  as  De  Saye's 
satellite,  his  place  was  at  the  end  of  the  table, 
among  the  juniors,  and  with  those  on  the  low- 
est rung  of  the  ladder  of  otHcial  hierarchy. 
lie  was  seated  between  a  fat,  rosy  young  ma- 
tron and  Pauline  Rendu.  His  duty,  and  he 
knew  it,  was  in  no  way  towards  the  latter; 
besides,  he  looked  on  her  as  belonging  to  De 
Saye, 

Pauline,  in  her  new  dress  from  Paris,  was 
an  attractive  little  person.  Of  all  unfathoma- 
ble phenomena,  none  greater  than  that  secret 
personal  inlluence  we  name  attraction.  It  is 
not  due  to  beauty,  for  ofttimes  it  exists  inde- 
pendently of  beauty.  Emerson  says,  "  In 
chosen  men  and  women,  I  find  somewhat  in 
form  and  speech  and  manners  which  is  not  of 
their  person  or  family,  but  of  a  human  catho- 
lic and  spiritual  character,  and  we  love  them 
as  we  d(»  the  skv."  Pauline  belonged  to  this 
class ;  and  it  was,  indeed,  a  common  saying  m 
St.  Gloi,  "  that  it  was  difficult  to  believe  she  was 
the  child  of  the  Rendus." 

Something  of  the  school-girl  still  lingered  in 
her  sayings  and  doings,  and  she  was  yet  in  the 
period  of  sadden  dashes  out  of  the  depths  of 
shyness  to  the  front  rank  of  audacious  candor. 


30  jtjpiter's  dacghtees. 

The  fat  vonno;  iriadarae  was  sincjularly  nnin- 
terestiug;  still,  all  the  laws  of  etiquette  bound 
Vilpout  to  address  his  conversation  to  her. 
She  answered  all  he  said  by  a  short  laucrh. 
Driven  to  extremity,  he  at  last  spoke  with  ad- 
miration of  the  wreath  on  her  head. 

"It  was  got  for  the  Woods-and-Forests' 
ball,"  she  said,  "  and  it  never  took  place,  be- 
cause his  father  died.     It  was  very  annoying." 

"Most  people  do  think  it  an  annoyance  to 
die,"  he  said  gravely. 

"  I  don't  mean  that,  but  that  I  had  bought 
the  wreath  for  nothing;  I  was  so  thankful 
when  I  got  the  Chambaud's  invitation." 

"Ah!  I  understand  now,"  said  Vilpont,  his 
attention  engrossed  by  Mademoiselle  Rendn's 
pretty  hands  as  she  opened  some  bonbon  pa- 
j)ers  to  read  the  mottoes. 

Not  once  during  the  two  mortal  hours  they 
Lad  sat  side  by  side  had  he  and  Pauline  inter- 
changed a  word.  The  young  madame,  detect- 
ing the  direction  of  his  eyes,  whispered — 

"  So  clever  !  you  have  not  an  idea  of  all  she 
knows — sings  and  draws,  and  speaks  German. 
She  was  at  the  Sacre  Coeur  in  Paris ;  an  im- 
mense advantage,  you  know." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  replied  Vilpont. 

He  thought  lie  saw  a  dimple  suddenly 
appear  and  disappear  in  Mademoiselle  Rendu's 
cheek. 

]\[adarae  Chambaud  had  a  soiree  in  the 
evening.  As  soon  as  the  dinner-guests  entered 
the  salo7ij  the  two  Joreys  rushed  at  Pauline, 


WE   SHALL    SEE   WHAT   WILL   COME    OF   IT.    31 

eager  to  know  all  that  had  passed  at  dinner. 
By  whom  had  Pauline  sat? 

"M.  Vilpont  was  on  my  right,  and  one  of 
M.  Chambaud's  clerks  on  my  left.  The  first 
did  not  think  me  worth  speaking  to,  and  the 
last  was  afraid  to  do  so.  It  was  amusing 
enough.  Madame  Greemard  surpassed  her- 
self ;  she  told  M.  Yilpont  the  story  of  the  man 
whose  polypus  was  cured  by  sticking  a  piece 
of  paper  on  the  point  of  his  tongue.  I  wish 
you  could  have  seen  the  face  of  interest  with 
which  M.  Vilpont  listened." 

"  I  do  hate  deceit,"  said  Stephanie. 

"  He  is  not  half  so  nice  as  M.  de  Saye,"  ob- 
served Julie. 

"  There's  no  comparison  possible  between 
them,"  replied  Pauline  with  decision. 

"  I  should  not  call  M.  Yilpont  downright 
ugly,"  added  Julie,  "  but  he  is  so  thin  and 
woodish." 

"  And  M.  de  Saye  so  wax-dollish,  don't  you 
think?"  asked  Pauline.  "Oh  dear!  how  1 
should  enjoy  it  all  if  there  were  to  be  no  play- 


lUiT  nor  sinking  !  " 


Vain  wish  !  Madame  Charabaud  knew  the 
desire  of  the  hearts  of  mothers.  AVhat  could 
girls  learn  music  for,  but  to  play  in  com- 
pany ?  So  the  Jorcys  thundered  through  one 
of  Vilbac's  duets,  to  the  admiration  of  their 
parents,  who  liked  plenty  of  sound.  Then 
came  Pauline's  turn.  She  had  considerable 
musical  talent,  aud  a  sweet,  powerful  voice. 
But,  poor  little  girl !    she  displayed   neither 


32  JUPITER  S    DAUGHTERS. 

to  arlvantage.  She  was  seized  by  an  uncon- 
trollable emotion  whicli  paralyzed  her  powers. 

Madame  Rendn  preserved  a  plausible  show 
of  composure ;  but  the  burning  flush  on  her 
usually  colorless  cheeks,  testified  to  her  inter- 
nal disturbance.  Some  good-natured  soul 
among  the  guests,  who,  like  many  doers  of 
good  "deeds,  received  no  meed  of  gratitude, 
proposed  that  the  young  people  should  dance. 
M.  de  Saye,  by  Madame  Chambaud's  will, 
danced  the  first  quadrille  with  Pauline,  who 
then  took  Stephanie's  place  at  the  piano,  to 
play  waltzes  and  polkas. 

"  It  is  a  pity  to  see  you  condemned  to  play," 
said  Yilpont,  suddenly  addressing  her.  "  Can 
none  of  those  ladies  take  your  place  ?  "  and  he 
glanced  at  a  group  of  the  middle-aged. 

"  I  never  waltz,"  said  Pauline ;  "  it  makes 
me  so  giddy." 

"  If  you  persevered,  you  would  conquer  that 
feeling." 

"  I  "have  tried  often  enough,  and  I  don't 
much  care  to  conquer  in  such  a  cause." 

"If  you  have  any  polka  or  waltz  duets,! 
am  equal  to  playiug  a  bass,  and  it  would  fa- 
tigue you  less." 

"  Can  you  ?  that  would  be  amusing.  Just 
turn  over  some  leaves  of  this  book,  and  you 
will  come  to  duets.  Let  us  try  to  go  on 
without  a  stop.  How  surprised  they  will  all 
be !  " 

Obeying  her  directions,  their  four  hands 
were  soon  on  the  instrument  together — his  so 


'O 


WE    SHALL    SEE    WHAT   WILL    COME    OF    IT.     33 

long,  thin,  and  brown — hers  so  rosy  and  dim- 
pled. 

"  Yon  play  well,  and  have  a  charming 
voice,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  sang  so  well  just  now!  I  have 
never  dared  to  look  at  mamma  since." 

She  might  have  added  that  she  would  still 
less  dare  to  do  so  now.  Perhaps  half  her  pres- 
ent pleasure  arose  from  knowing  it  to  be 
against  rules. 

"My  entertaining  neiglibor  at  dinner,"  he 
went  on,  "  warned  me  you  were  a  well  of 
science  and  a  mass  of  talents.  I  had  already 
seen  one  specimen  of  the  last,  a  water-color 
sketch  in  your  salon." 

"  You  are  ver}^  easy  of  belief  for  a — Pa- 
risian." 

"  What  was  the  word  you  replaced  by  Pa- 
risian  i 

"  Not  a  polite  one." 

"  I  guess  you  meant  credulous  for  my  age." 

A  faint  blnsh  answered  him. 

"  You  consider  me  then  old — quite  an  old 
man,  who  may  be  allowed  the  privilege  of 
playing  bass  to  your  treble.  1  suppose  you 
wouldn't  have  allowed  De  Saye  to  do  so? " 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  consider  you  at  all  an  old 
man  ? " 

"  Well,  I  am  older  than  Gaston — drawing 
near  the  mezzo  caminin  delta  mtaT 

"  And  having  met  all  sorts  of  wild  beasts,  I 
bad  a  right  to  wonder  at  your  being  easily  de- 
ceived," she  rejoined. 

a* 


34  Jupiter's  daughteks. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  young  ladies  were 
allowed  to  read  Dante." 

"I  have  read.  Dante  pretty  mncli,  as  I 
painted  that  sketch  you  admire.  It's  very 
provoking  to  be  taken  in  about  yourself,  to 
find  out  that  after  years  of  school  you  know 
little,  or  rather  nothing." 

"  I  perceive  you  are  a  young  philosopher, 
given  to  serious  reflection." 

"  Do  you  suppose  girls  are  blind  and  deaf, 
and  never  think  till  they  are  married  ?  " 

"Worse  and  worse.  You  are  heterodox. 
Nice  young  ladies  wait  to  receive  their  impres- 
sions from  their  husbands." 

"  That's  nonsense  ;  they  cannot  help  seeing 
and  feeling.  I  assure  you,  I  have  very  decided 
opinions  about  most  things." 

She  spoke  with  animation,  and  Yilpont 
thought  her  prettier  with  every  passing  min- 
ute ;  and  being  a  man,  that  fact  would  have 
earned  her  pardon  for  anything  she  might  be 
pleased  to  say.  lie  said,  with  assumed  grav- 
ity— 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  imbued  with,  or  rather 
poisoned  by,  the  theory  of  the  rights  of 
women." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  of  that  theory  ; 
but  I  have  ideas  of  my  own  on  all  I  hear  talked 
about." 

"  Politics,  for  instance." 

"A  little.  I  listen  often  to  papa  and  his 
friends." 


WE    SHALL    SEE    WHAT   WILL   COME    OF   IT.     35 

"  And  may  I  ask,  are  you  Liberal,  Dynastic, 
Irreconcilal)le  ?  " 

"  Soinethiiio:  of  all  three." 

"  Now  you  puzzle  me.     Pray  explain." 

Here,  in  her  ardor  to  do  so,  Pauline  lost  her 
time  so  completely,  that  she  brought  a  ci'owd 
of  complainants  about  the  piano.  Madame 
Rendu  also  approached  the  criminal,  and 
Pauline,  obeying  the  order  telegraphed  by  the 
stern,  .black  eyes,  placed  herself  by  the  mater- 
nal side.  Slie  danced  all  the  rest  of  the  quad- 
rilles with  her  townsmen,  and  behaved  during 
the  remainder  of  the  evening  with  the  custom- 
ary discretion  of  Frencli  provincial  young  la- 
dies ;  but  oil,  how  tiresome  and  insipid  lier 
partners  appeai-ed  ! 

It  was  a  surprise  to  Pauline  that  her  mother 
did  not  take  her  to  task  about  M.  Yilpont. 
She  had  expected  a  lecture  after  the  angry 
look  she  had  received  ;  but  all  that  Madame 
Pendu  said  was — 

"  How  stupid  of  you  to  break  down  in  your 
playing !  " 

This  indulgence  did  not  arise  from  the 
shrewdness  which  depreciates  by  contemptuous 
indifference,  but  was  the  result  of  a  preoccu- 
pied mind. 

Madame  Rendu  luid  been  told  that  evening 
that  M.  de  Saye  was  disposed  to  live  at  Sept 
Ormes ;  and  it  was  also  said  the  inheritance 
was  larger  than  at  first  believed.  If  this  were 
really  the  case,  it  might  be  worth  her  while  to 
reconsider    her    former    decision.     She    had 


36  jupitee's  daughters. 

ganged  liim  sniRciently  already  to  be  aware 
he  was  not  an  eagle ;  therefore,  the  better  cal- 
culated to  make  a  safe,  quiet  husband  for  Pau- 
line, and  manageable  son-in-law  for  herself. 
It  was  this  current  of  thought  which  restrained 
her  from  attacking  Vilpont,  whom  she  felt 
sure  it  would  be  better  to  have  as  a  friend 
than  an  enemy. 


FORESHADOWmGS.  37 


CHAPTEE  Y. 

.     FORESHADOWINGS. 

It  was  on  the  day  after  this  dinner  that 
Pauline  wrote  the  following  letter  to  Madame 
Agues,  one  of  the  ladies  of  the  Convent  of 
Sacre  Coeur: 

"  Dear  Madame, — Do  not  be  angry  if  I 
have  not  answered  your  letter  sooner.  I  am 
vei-y  sorry  I  ccjuld  not ;  but  you  must  not  be 
vexed  with  your  child,  she  loves  you  so  much. 

"Whatever  happens,  my  heart  always  re- 
mains with  you.  It  is  sad  to  feel  my  heart  so 
full  without  having  that  other  heart  near  me, 
to  whom  I  could  show  all  that  is  in  my  own. 
Do  not  answer  me  about  this,  for  I  cannot  and 
will  not  let  my  mother  see  mv  feelings  on  this 
point.  Dear  Madame,  always  love  me  as  you 
do  now.  It  is  such  a  comfort  to  have  faith, 
as  I  have,  in  your  affection  for  me.  I  consider 
myself  very  happy  to  have  you  for  my  friend. 

'•  When  I  began  to  write,  I  fancied  I  had  so 
much  to  say.  You  do  not  care  to  liear  about 
parties ;  still  I  must  tell  3'ou  of  one  dinner  at 
the  Chambauds',  at  which  we  met  M.  de 
Save,  the  heir,  you  know,  of  old  M.  Delanoy. 

''  M.  de  Saye  is  very  pleasant.  Every  one 
speaks  in  raptures  of  him.  lie  manages  to  be 
good  friends  with  every  one ;  even  with  the 


38  jtjpitee's  daughtees. 

Major  and  Arch-priest  Gonnier.  I  am  sure 
they  were  never  of  one  mind  before  about  any 
one  or  anything.  He  has  no  other  particular 
talent — I  mean,  he   does   not  care  for  music 

or  painting.      I  know   that   JNIadarae   C 

wants  to  make  a  marriage  for  him.  You  guess 
with  whom  ;  but  that  young  girl  will  never 
accept  him  for  a  husband — no,  never  ! 

"  Do  you  remember  I  once  told  you  I  was 
afraid  of  marriage,  and  how  you  answered  it 
was  better  for  a  woman  to  be  married  ?  But, 
dear  niadame,  take  my  place  for  a  moment. 
We  poor  French  gii-ls  only  see  the  man  with 
whom  we  are  always  to  live  two  or  three  times 
before  saying  '  Yes.'  Have  we  not  a  right  to 
be  afraid  of  the  future  ?  in  particular  when  a 
girl's  life  is  so  free  of  care  as  mine.  Is  it  not 
natural  to  be  afraid  to  leave  all  that  is  known 
for  what  is  unknown  ? — w^hat  is  certain  for 
what  is  uncertain?  Must  I  not  expect  my 
share  of  griefs  in  tlie  future — probably  in  my 
married  life  ;  and  I  must  be  ready  to  bear  all 
for  a  man  who  perhaps  will  not  understand 
me,  and  yet  whom  perhaps  I  shall  love;  for 
you  know  I  can  love. 

_"  However,  I  do  not  always  feel  afraid.  I 
wish  to  marry ;  not  now,  but  in  a  year  or  two. 
If  I  were  not  to  do  so,  I  should  be  desolate  by 
and  by,  as  I  have  no  brothers  or  sisters.  Be- 
sides, I  want  to  devote  myself  to  some  one. 
Do  not  answer  me  about  this.  Ton  must 
think  me  foolish — perhaps  I  am  ;  but  I  learned 
in  loving  you  the  happiness  affection  gi\'es. 


F0RESIIAD0WING8.  39 

Ah  !  if  you  were  here,  your  counsels  would  do 
me  good.  I  embrace  you  tenderly. — Your 
loving  child,  Pauline." 

Madame  Agnes  concluded  that  her  little 
friend's  letter  was  to  be  read  as  dreams  are — 
by  contraries  ;  and  that  this  M.  de  Saye  was, 
after  all,  to  be  the  object  of  that  devotion 
Pauline  longed  to  give.  The  3^oung  lady  had 
somehow  forgotten  to  mention  the  polka  duets. 

Ten  dsijs  later  another  letter  was  sent  to 
Madame  As-nes. 


& 


"Dear  Madame  and  Best  Friend, — On 
awaking  this  morning,  my  first  thought  was  of 
you,  and  more  than  ever  I  wished  you  were 
near  me.  I  must  now  relate  all  that  has  hap- 
pened since  my  last  letter ;  first  the  pleasure, 
and  then  the  pain. 

"  Mamma  decided  that  she  would  not  give 
M.  de  Saye  a  dinner,  like  every  one  else ;  so 
we  had  a  soiree.  After  we  had  danced,  M. 
de  Saye's  friend,  M.  Yilpont  (who  is  now  on  a 
visit  to  Sept  Ormes)  proposed  we  should  have 
some  charades.  At  first  no  one  would  agree 
to  act,  and  then  every  one  was  eager  to  do  so. 
The  first  word  was  '  Cartel.'  M.  Vilpont  said 
the  spelling  did  not  matter,  only  the  sound  of 
the  word.  So  we  had  a  scene  on  the  deck  of 
a  vessel,  with  the  ofiicer  and  men  of  the  watch 
taking  soundings,  and  a  lady  passenger  always 
interrupting  and  wanting  to  know  what  they 
were  doing.     I  was  the  lady,  and  it  was  not 


40  Jupiter's  daughtees. 

very  good.  But  the  second  syllable  was  excel- 
lent. It  was  a  parody  of  the  historical  scene 
of  William  Tell.  Oh !  it  was  the  best  of  all. 
M.  de  Saye  was  Gessler;  Stephanie  Jorey  and 
I  were  his  guards ;  Leon  Berthier  was  Tell ; 
and  M.  Laroche  his  wife  Edwige.  He  looked 
really  like  a  woman.  M.  Yilpont  was  Jemmy 
the  boy,  Madauie  Chamband  dressed  him  as 
a  baby,  with  a  little  cap.  He  came  in  on  his 
knees,  to  look  like  a  child,  with  his  finger  in 
his  month.  It  was  capital.  No  one  would 
have  expected  M.  Yilpont  to  be  so  amiable  as 
to  play  this  part.  His  face  was  so  droll  in  the 
baby's  cap,  with  his  beard  hid  by  a  bib.  Tlien 
we  played  "  pompier — pont-pied."  The  second 
scene  was  from  Cinderella.  M.  Yilpont  was 
the  prince,  and  did  not  seem  at  all  flattered  to 
fall  at  the  feet  of  Madame  Greemard,  she  is 
so  very  fat.  It  was  the  best  party  we  ever 
had." 

Perhaps  Madame  Agnes  might  have  been 
struck  by  the  frequent  mention  of  M.  Yilpont's 
name,  but  for  the  end  of  the  letter. 

"  Xow  for  the  pain. 

"  I  am  again  discouraged,  dear  madame,  as 
I  am  so  often.  I  despise  myself.  1  am  tired 
of  my  own  disagreeable  character,  and  sad- 
dened by  seeing  I  cannot  make  it  better.  I 
cannot  help  being  impatient  with  those  I  live 
with.  I  cannot  help  vexing  mamma  with  my 
impetuous  ways,  and  it  makes  me  miserable  to 
hear  her  say  I  shall  never  make  any  one  happy. 
This  is  what  happened. 


FORESHADOWINGS.  41 

"  The  day  after  our  charades  mamma  and  I 
went  to  see  my  cousin  Eugenie.  You  know 
mamma  loves  her  as  another  daughter.  We 
found  her — where  do  you  think? — in  her  hus- 
band's private  room,  where  he  sees  his  clients 
and  writes.  We  heard  very  loud  speaking  as 
we  were  going  in.  Victor  and  Eugenie  were 
sitting  on  a  sofa,  and  as  we  entered  we  saw 
Iier  give  liim  a  great  slap.  I  shivered  all  over, 
but  V  ictor  was  not  angry  a  bit ;  he  laughed, 
and  said,  '  Shall  we  have  a  separation,  my 
angel  ? '  and  then  Eugenie  began  to  sob. 

"  Mamma  asked  what  was  tlie  matter,  and 
Victor  said  that  Eugenie  had  been  turning 
over  all  his  papers,  and  reading  private  letters 
on  business.  Eugenie  sobbed  out  that  he  re- 
ceived visits  from  ladies,  and  that  she  was  per- 
fectly wretclied. 

"  Victor  said  to  mamma,  '  Believe  me,  I 
adore  Eugenie,  but  she  torments  me  to  death  ; 
we  must  either  separate,  or  I  must  give  up  my 
profession  and  starve.'  I  don't  know  what 
made  me  interfere ;  but  I  did,  and  I  said  that 
Eugenie  must  be  silly,  or  worse;  for  if  she  be- 
lieved her  husband  was  a  bad  man,  she  ought 
not  to  stay  with  him. 

"  Mamma  turned  quite  fiercely  on  me,  and 
declared  I  was  insupportable ;  that  instead  of 
trying  to  make  peace,  1  added  fuel  to  fire. 
I  ouMit  to  have  held  my  tongue ;  but  I  went 
on  and  declared  it  was  wrong  to  make  peace 
with  badness.  Mamma  turned  me  out  of  the 
room,  saying  she  pitied  the  man  who  should 


42  Jupiter's  daughters. 

marry  me.  I  have  been  so  unhappy,  ever 
since,  to  tliink  that  my  own  mother,  who 
knows  me  best,  should  say  I  was  i7isuj)j>ort- 
able.  It  is  very  hard  to  bear;  and  if  you 
knew  how  hard  I  try  not  to  be  forever  indig- 
nant— to  be  more  quiet,  like  other  girls  !  But 
I  cannot  laugh  at  things  as  the  Joreys  do. 
Pray  write  and  comfort  me.  You  never 
thought  me  insupportable,  did  you? — Your 
poor  Pauline." 

ISTo  one  can  doubt  what  was  the  answer  sent 
to  this  effusion.  It  could  be  no  other  than  an 
exhortation  to  be  humble,  patient,  and  submis- 
sive; but  the  homily  was  so  sweetened  by 
terms  of  endearment,  that  Pauline  wept  tears 
of  mingled  joy  and  repentance  as  she  read. 
N"or  can  any  one  doubt  that  she  laid  the  coun- 
sels to  heart,  seeing  how  uncomplainingly  she 
accepted  her  mother's  refusal  of  the  many  in- 
vitations that  followed  the  charade  soiree. 
Her  regret  at  these  refusals  she  looked  on  in 
the  light  of  a  fitting  penance — her  own  patient 
acquiescence  was  a  salve  to  her  conscience. 

Madame  Rendu  was  holding  aloof  until  she 
could  be  sure  of  M.  de  Saye's  plans.  She 
prided  herself  on  her  far-sightedness.  She  ex- 
plained, or  rather  told,  M.  Rendu,  who  per- 
mitted himself  to  wonder  why  they  should  thus 
seclude  themselves,  that  she  was  the  best  judge 
of  what  ought  or  ought  not  to  be  done  in  the 
case,  and  that  she  acted  thus  solely  in  Pauline's 
interest.      As   for   Pauline  herself,   Madame 


FORESHADOWING  8.  43 

Rendu  unconsciously  looked  upon  her  as  a 
pnppet — eyes,  ears,  feeling,  and  understanding 
wonld  be  bestowed  on  her  when  she  married. 

In  the  meantime  Pauline's  imagination 
worked  the  more  diligently  for  the  absence  of 
reality. 


44  JTJPITEe's   DAtJGHTEES. 


CHAPTER  YI. 

A  FIRST   SUNDAY   AT    STE.   MAKIE,   AND   SUSPICION 

LULLED. 

Three  weeks  after  the  polka  dnets,  Yilpont, 
quite  by  accident,  met  Pauline  at  Chateau  Ste. 
Marie,  the  residence  of  her  godmother.  Every 
Sunday  all  the  members  of  her  family  gathered 
round  old  Madame  Jorey.  The  French  have 
strong  family  love.  They  say  of  themselves, 
"  True,  we  laugh  at  matrimony,  our  race  has 
always  done  so  from  the  beginning  of  time ; 
but  in  no  country  are  parents  more  honored, 
the  bond  of  relationship  held  so  close." 

Filial  respect  was  especially  great  among 
the  Joreys.  The  elderly  sons  were  as  submis- 
sive in  manner  to  their  mother  as  when  mere 
schoolboys.  Pauline  was  admitted  as  one  of 
the  family  group  by  right  of  god-daughtership. 
Godmother  and  godchild  are  looked  upon  in 
France  as  connected  by  a  binding  relationship. 

It  was  M.  Edmond  Jorey  who  had  brought 
Yilpont  to  Ste.  Marie,  and  who  ushered  him 
without  ceremony  into  the  salle  d  manger. 

A  pretty  scene  met  the  Parisian's  sight. 
Bonne  raaraan  (g?'andmamma),  seated  in  a 
roomy  arm-chair,  was  supei-intending  the 
handiwork  of  iier  two  grand-daughters  and  of 
Mademoiselle  Rendu. 

All  three  girls  were  in  deshabille.,  in  gray 


A    FIEST    SUNDAY    AT    8TE.    MARIE.  45 

peignoirs,  their  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the  elbow, 
and  each  with  a  spoon  was  rapidly  stirring 
some  concoction  in  a  basin.  The  nsual  com- 
pact neatness  of  their  hair  was  distnrbed : 
wild  little  curls  were  floating  over  Pauline's 
forehead,  and  frolicking  on  her  neck.  The 
gentlemen  had  been  watching  them  through 
the  window  for  Hve  minutes,  and  listening  to 
their  chatter. 

"  I  am  teachincy  them  something  better  than 
music  and  dancing,"  said  the  old  lady,  her 
round  face  all  in  a  glow  with  her  own  exer- 
tions. "■  Ma  tillenle  (my  god-daughter)  has 
been  looking  after  the  gigot,  which  you  shall 
give  your  opinion  about  at  supper  ;  and  now 
we  are  making  three  different  kinds  of  bon- 
bons, chocolate,  pistachio,  and  almond." 

"  AVill  you  let  me  be  one  of  your  pupils? " 
said  Vilpont,  seating  himself  on  a  footstool  at 
honne  maman^  feet,  which  also  brought  him 
close  to  Pauline. 

He  turned  up  his  coat-sleeves,  and  with 
a  sheet  of  paper  lying  conveniently  near 
made  himself  a  cook's  cap.  Bonne  maman 
chuckled  ;  and  the  girls,  how  they  laughed 
with  girlish  glee  !  Pauline  put  her  basin,  into 
his  hands,  bidding  him  go  on  stirring.  At 
last  the  bonbons  were  ready  for  the  oven,  and 
honne  maiixan  called  out,  "  Run,  girls,  and  get 
yourselves  ready  for  vespers !  I  hear  the  bell." 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  back  again  in 
their  silk  frocks  and  tiny  straw  hats,  all 
wreathed  with  corn-flowers. 


46  Jupiter's  daughters. 

Yilpont — Heaven  knows  how  lonj^  since  he 
had  done  so — went  to  church  witli  the  family. 
He  manosuvred  so  as  to  secure  himself  a  seat 
on  the  bench  immediately  opposite  to  where 
Pauline  sat.  How  innocent  and  good  she 
looked,  and  how  charming  was  her  little 
gaucherie  as  she  knelt  on  the  straw  chair,  con- 
scious of  the  short  dress  which  betrayed  her 
pretty  feet ! 

The  church  was  a  poor  village  church ;  tlie 
whitewashed  wails  hung  with  the  most  primi- 
tive gaudy  prints  of  the  Chemin  de  la  Croix, 
with  here  and  there  a  humble  ex-voto. 
Facing  Yilpont  was  a  rough  painting  of  a 
stupendous  bUick  eye  on  a  blue  ground,  sym- 
bolizing the  ever-watchfulness  of  Providence. 
Few  or  the  cierges  being  lighted,  and  ivy- 
branches  trailino^  across  the  hio-h  narrow  win- 
dows,  ev^erything  in  the  church  was  toned  down 
to  a  soft  gray,  well  calculated  to  promote  tran- 
quil, if  not  devotional,  feeling.  The  nasal 
bass  of  the  priest,  the  high,  untutored  trebles 
of  the  choir,  the  scraping  of  the  fiddle,  and 
the  drone  of  the  serpent,  brought  back  a  whole 
tide  of  recollections  to  Yilpont.  Memory  so 
smote  on  his  heart,  that  his  eyes  filled  with  un- 
wonted tears.  He  felt,  as  so  many  feel,  that 
the  acquisitious  of  manhood  do  not  compen- 
sate for  the  hopes  and  faith  of  early  youth. 

Pauline  saw — as  women  do  see  everything 
in  any  one  wdio  interests  them — she  saw  that 
sudden  filling  of  his  eyes.  How  describe  their 
effect  upon  her  ?     In  a  second  she  had  deified 


A    FIRST    SUNDAY   AT   STE,    MAKIE.  47 

this  man  of  the  world.  Her  letters  to  Madame 
iVa^nes  have  sliowii  the  cravings  of  her  young 
heart — have  shown  how  her  nature  shrunk 
from  the  void  of  having  no  one  to  whom  to 
give  a  woman's  devotion.  In  tliis  moment 
that  void  was  filled  by  a  joy  that  ti'ansiigured 
her  sweet  face.  The  period  of  crudeness  and 
defiance,  special  to  the  girl  who  has  never  felt 
a  preference,  was  about  to  vanish.  With  a 
new  and  vivid  sensation  she  set  aside  her 
chair ;  and  kneeling  on  the  bare  stone,  her  in- 
nocent soul  associated  this  almost  stranger 
with  her  inmost  prayers. 

As  they  were  leaving  the  church  a  very  old 
gentleman  came  forw^ard — a  thin,  bent,  white- 
haired  man,  dressed  in  a  brown  snit, 

"  My  uncle  Germain,  my  mother's  eldest 
brother,"  said  M.  Jorey,  presenting  him  to 
Vilpont. 

"  Uncle,  will  you  come  on  the  lake  with 
Tis  ? "  asked  Stephanie. 

"  Yery  willingly,  my  child,"  he  replied,  in 
a  feeble,  quivering  voice. 

"  A  lake?"  exclaimed  Vilpont. 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  worthy  of  your  notice,"  re- 
plied the  octogenarian  with  pride. 

"  Uncle,  take  care  and  bring  tiie  girls  home 
in  time  for  supper,"  said  M.  Jorey,  lifting 
his  hat,  as  he  turned  in  another  direction. 

"  Papa  always  has  a  long  tete-d-tete  with 
honne  maman  on  Sunday  afternoon,"  ex- 
plained Stephanie  to  Yilpont.  "  Bonne  mor 
inan  likes  to  hear  all  he  has  done  durinsj  the 


48  Jupiter's  daughters. 

week.  She  must  have  him  all  to  herself,  and 
then  she  pats  his  head  and  holds  his  hand  in 
hers,  just  as  she  nsed  to  do  when  he  was  a 
child.  '  lie  is  still  my  boy,'  she  often  says ; 
and  so  mamma  does  not  come  till  just  before 
supper-time,  and  Uncle  Germain  takes  care  of 
ns  meanwhile." 

Surely  never  was  there  a  more  fragile-look- 
ing guardian. 

As  they  wound  along  the  narrow,  woodland 
path  leading  to  the  lake,  by  that  double  will 
which  yet  seems  chance,  Pauline  and  Vilpont 
came  to  be  side  by  side. 

Pauline  at  first  frequently  stopped  to  pick  a 
flower,  as  though  she  thought  nothing  of  her 
companion  ;  but  after  two  or  three  of  these  pre- 
tences of  indifference,  she  succumbed  to  the 
new  influence. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Uncle  Germain  ?  " 
she  began. 

"  He  is  so  bowed,  so  gentle-looking,  yet  so 
scarred  by  time,  that  I  should  imagine  he  had 
suffered  a  good  deal." 

Pauline  said  with  a  look  of  surprise,  "  How 
well  you  guess !  but  perhaps  you  have  heard 
his  story  ? " 

"  Not  a  word  of  it,  I  assure  you." 

"  He  is  past  eighty  now,  but  when  he  was 
young  he  cared  very  much  for  a  lady ;  she 
is  still  alive,  and  lives  in  St.  Gloi.  Pie  was 
not  rich  enough,  so  she  married  some  one 
else  ;  and  then  about  ten  years  afterwards  her 
husband   died,  leaving  her  a  great  fortune. 


A    riKST    SUNDAY    AT    STE.    MARIE.  49 

Everybody  expected  that  now  slie  would 
marry  TTiicle  Germain,  for  she  had  always  de- 
clared she  loved  him." 

"  And  I  suppose  they  found  out  that  they 
no  longer  cared  for  one  another,"  interrupted 
Yilpont. 

"  He  has  never  ceased  to  love  her,"  said 
Pauline,  with  a  slight  vibration  of  indignation 
in  her  voice,  "  but  she  would  not  marry  him  ; 
and  they  say  " — here  indignation  sounded  its 
full  note — "they  say  she  laughs  at  him.  My 
mother  suspects  he  knows  it,  and  that  it  is 
that  which  makes  him  so  sad-looking."  v 

/*    "  My  dear  young  lady,  when  you  have  lived 
longer  yon  will   discover  how  capricious  hu- 
man hearts  are.     Who  knows  whether,  if  the 
lady  had  proved  kind,  the  gentleman  would, 
have  remained  constant  %  "  -^ 

Pauline's  eyes  flashed  on  him  as  she  replied, 
"If  Iain  only  to  discover  what  is  mean  and 
bad,  I  do  not  wish  to  live." 

Luckily  just  at  this  moment  they  emerged 
out  of  the  chequered  shade  of  the  wood  into 
the  bright  sanlight  which  set  ablaze  the  yel- 
low road  and  the  greensward  of  the  banks 
surroundiui^  the  lake — nothinr;  in  siffht  to  mar 
the  sylvan  loveliness  of  the  scene — a  bird 
overhead  letting  fall  sparse  notes  of  song, 
some  of  the  last  he  would  sing  that  year — a 
gentle  breeze  just  sufficient  to  make  the  high 
grass  quiver — three  nymi)h-like  girls  giving 
the  life  and  coloring  Ponssin  loved. 

"  Come  away  !  "  cried  Julie  from  the  boat, 
3 


50  jupitee's  dadghters. 

nnable  to  sympathize  in  Vilpoiit's  admiration  ; 
"  we  are  wastino;  precious  time." 

"  Are  you  really  going  to  row?  "  asked  A^il- 
pont,  as  he  saw  Pauline  and  Julie  handling 
the  oars. 

''  That's  the  pleasure  of  it,"  said  Julie. 
"  Uncle  Germain  will  steer.  Monsieur  Vil- 
pout,  you  and  Stephanie  are  our  passen- 
gers." 

Yilpont  took  his  seat  according  to  orders, 
and  away  they  went  skimming  over  the  unrip- 
pled  waters.  So  calm  was  it,  so  vivid  the  re- 
flection of  the  cloudless  heaven,  that  they 
seemed  to  he  gliding  over  a  blue  sky,  behind 
them  the  trees,  wra])ped  in  violet  mist. 

After  a  little  whispering  among  themselves, 
the  girls  began  to  sing  "  Adeste  Fideles,"  the 
two  rowing  keeping  time  with  their  oars.  On 
and  on  they  passed,  out  of  the  bright  light 
into  where  the  lake,  narrowing  l)etween  two 
banks,  was  darkened  by  trees  advancing  to 
their  edge.  They  stopped,  and  Stephanie 
said.  "  Now  Ave  must  s'o  home :  it's  mv  turn," 
and  she  took  Pauline's  oar. 

"  I  wish  there  was  no  going  back,"  said 
Yilpont. 

"  And  the  gigot  and  the  bonbons  ! "  cried 
out  Julie. 

"  Ah  !  true,  I  had  forgotten  reality." 

"  But  reality  must  not  be  forgotten,"  said 
Stephanie  in  her  most  dogmatic  tone,  "  or  we 
shall  get  among  the  osiers,  and  have  a  scolding 
into  the  bargain." 


A    FIRST    SUNDAY    AT    STE.    MARIK.  51 

"  You  are  riijht,  mademoiselle ;  forcfettino- 
reality  never  fails  to  land  one  in  a  scrape. 
But  common-sense  need  not  prevent  your 
siuiriiio;  a<i;uin." 

"  As  Pauline  is  not  rowing,  let  her  sing 
something  alone." 

"  What' shall  it  he  ?"  asked  Pauline. 

"  Uncle  Germain's  favorite — '  Demain.'  " 

Leaning  over  the  side,  trailing  one  hand  in 
the  water  as  a  sort  of  accompaniment,  Pau- 
line sang  Madame  Blanchecotte's  pretty  words 
set  to  music  hv  the  oro-anist  of  St.  Gloi — 

"Lon,  Ion  la!  les  jours  se  passent 
Tides,  miserablement ! 
Lon,  lon  la  !  les  coeurs  se  lassent 
D'eiTsr  otemellement ! 
Toujours  la  mcme  folie, 
Les  mcmes  tristes  amours, 
Et  toujours  la  meme  lie  ! 
Lon,  lon  la  !  toujours  !  toujours  ! 

"  Lon,  lon  la  !  comme  on  se  leurre 

D'c,ti-e  ferme  et  d'etre  fier  ! 
Lon,  lon  la  !  qu'on  rie,  qu'on  pleure 

Demain  recommence  hier  ! 

Ou  Ton  est  tombe  Ton  tombe  ! 

2sous  ne  cessons  d'etre  fous 

Que  les  deux  pieds  sous  la  tombe ; 
Lon,  lon  la  !  dessous  !  dessous  ! 

' '  Lon,  lon  la  !  d"un  air  de  ronde 
Je  voulais  railler  un  peu 

Lon,  lon  la  !  ce  pauvre  monde, 
Si  morose  dans  son  jeu ! 
JIais  une  angoisse  subite 
Vint  pleurer  quand  je  chantais  : 
De  soi  Ton  n'est  jamais  quitte  ! 

Lon,  lon  la  !  jamais  !  jamais  !  " 


52  Jupiter's  daugiitkks. 

Header,  have  yon  ever  listened  to  a  happy 
child  singing  some  ditty  with  sad  words,  the 
sadness  of  which  it  cannot  comprehend,  and 
not  felt  the  pathos  of  the  contrast  between 
words  and  singer  ?  This  was  what  moved 
Yilpont  to  the  very  depth  of  his  being,  listen- 
ing to  snch  despairing  words  from  the  rosy 
lips  of  the  fair  girl  before  him  —  so  uncon- 
scious of  the  struggles  and  anguish  that  in- 
formed the  poet's  lines. 

With  swift  strokes  they  shot  out  of  the 
gloom  into  long,  glancing  lines  of  light.  The 
water  had  a  voice  also  of  its  own — the  breeze 
made  a  whispering  among  the  trees ;  on  went 
the  boat  with  its  freight  of  humanity — the  sad 
old  man  on  the  verge  of  eternity,  the  disap- 
pointed man  who  had  reached  the  "  middle 
way  of  life,"  and  three  young  creatures  full 
of  ardor  and  of  belief  that  the  world  was  a 
great  stoi-ehouse  of  happiness. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Rendu,  with  Ma- 
dame Edmond  Jorey,  joined  the  supper-party, 
Madame  Hendu  looked  far  from  pleased  when 
she  saw  Vilpont,  and  made  an  opportunity  to 
let  him  know  that  she  never  trusted  Pauline 
alone  to  visit  any  one  but  her  marraiiie. 

The  cure  of  the  village  was  also  there :  he 
was  treated  like  one  of  the  famih^,  and  was 
evidently  the  confidant  of  the  young  girls. 
He  had  been  their  religious  guide  and  in- 
structor, and  it  was  with  him  they  had  "  made 
their  first  communion."     It  was  pretty  to  see 


A   FIRST   SUNDAY    AT   STE.    MAIilE.  53 

how  they  waited  on  him,  and  how  he  entered 
into  all  their  jokes  and  playful  ways. 

The  following  morning,  while  I)e  Saye  and 
his  friend  were  smoking  their  cigars  on  the 
terrace  running  along  the  front  of  Sept 
Ormes,  De  Saye  said  : 

"  That  busybody  we  dined  with  last  week 
told  me  that  Mademoiselle  Eendu's  dot  will 
be  only  200,000  francs  (£8,000),  and  the 
father  and  mother  are  only  now  middle- 
aged." 

Vilpont  whistled. 

"  That's  no  answer,"  said  De  Saye,  fret- 
fully. 

"The  young  lady  herself  has  some  value," 
replied  Yilpont,  dryly. 

"  She  is  agreeable  enough,  but  the  fortune 
is  preposterous  ;  only  considei-  millinery  !  My 
sister  finds  six  thousand  francs  too  little  for 
her  dress,  and  is  always  borrowing." 

Vilpont  puffed  out  a  great  cloud  of  smoke 
before  he  replied  : 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  De  Saye— win  Made- 
moiselle Pauline  if  you  can.  She  is  superior 
to  the  generality  of  girls,  and  believe  me,  my 
good  fellow,  marriage  is  an  excellent  thing 
when  a  man  is  young,  and  when  he  makes  of 
his  wife  the  companion  of  his  youth." 

"  If  you  have  such  a  good  opinion  of  Made- 
moiselle Pauline,  why  don't  you  propose  for 
her  ? " 

''  I  am  too  old,  and— I  am  not  worthy  of 
such  a  girl." 


54  JUPITEE  S    DAUGHTERS. 

Yet  Vilpont  was,  perhaps,  better  than 
ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  of  the  men  of 
his  class.  lie  might  claim  the  snperioi'it)"  of 
having  been  made  pretty  often  a  dupe; 
further,  that  he  was  still  able  to  believe  in 
his  fellow-beinsjs,  and  was  not  like  many  of 
his  associates,  who  paraded  cynicism  as  a 
merit.  He  bad,  besides,  talent  tbat  was  nearly 
genius,  and  was  without  vanity.  He  was  gen- 
erous both  in  sentiment  and  deed  ;  incapable  of 
a  meanness,  as  between  man  and  man.  With 
women  his  c<jde  of  honor  was  less  strict.  He 
had  not  escaped  the  influences  of  his  genera- 
tion— of  its  prodigality,  its  discouragements, 
and  its  love  of  pleasure.  One  and  all  of  these 
had  left  bis  mark  on  him. 

When  everything  had  been  conjectured  it 
was  possible  to  conjecture  about  De  Saye's 
antecedents,  St.  Gloi  suddenly  vibrated  with 
curiosity  as  to  who  M.  Vilpont  was,  and  why 
he  had  come  thither,  and  why  he  did  not  go 
away. 

The  Arch-priest's  cook  averred  that  Gonde 
had  told  her  that  never  had  she  seen  such 
linen  as  M.  Vilpont's ;  it  was  a  shame  for  a 
man,  and  a  young  man,  to  have  sucli  shirts; 
and  everything  else  to  match — brushes  and 
combs  fit  for  a  prince.  He  was  quiet  enough 
in  his  ways  ;  but  there  was  a  something  about 
him  which  made  Gonde  suspect  him. 

"Suspect  him  of  what ;!"  asked  the  Arch- 
priest,  full  of  ahirm,  lest  Henri  Rochefort  had 
corac  among  them  in  disguise. 


A   FIRST    SUNDAY    AT    STE.    MAKIE.  55 

"Well,  Gonde  could  not  explain  ;  but  she 
was  of  o})ini()n  he  was  not  what  he  seemed. 

Little  by  little  the  curiosity  of  the  St.  Glois- 
ians  took  a  tinge  of  the  fierceness  of  fear. 
The  wish  to  know  all  your  neighbor's  con- 
cerns, and  the  habit  of  supposing  evil  unless 
you  can  gratify  that  desire  for  knowledge,  are 
not  peculiar  to  St.  Gloi.  Everywhere,  save  in 
great  centres,  or  in  places  renowned  for  cli- 
mate, folks  require  a  patent  reason  for  your 
coming  among  them.  The  bank-director's 
wife  was  the  iirst  to  break  ground.  She  one 
day  said  to  Vilpont  that  he  was  the  tirst  per- 
son she  had  ever  known  who  remained  in  St. 
Gloi  without  any  obligation  to  do  so. 

"  I  am  lazy,"  he  answei-ed.  "  I  did  not 
come  willingly,  but  being  here,  I  do  not  care 
to  go.     Are  you  anxious  that  I  should  ?  " 

"  Oh  deal-,  no !  only  you  must  allow  us  to 
wonder  a  little." 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  I  am  considered  a 
suspicious  character.  Dear  lady,  I  am  noth- 
ing worse  than  a  do-nothing,  who,  not  being 
pressed  by  necessity,  passes  his  days  in  busy 
idleness.  1  am  without  any  nearer  relation 
than  an  uncle  and  some  distant  cousins,  who 
have  no  particular  regard  for  me.  If  you 
have  any  reason  for  desiring  my  absence,  I 
will  be  off  to-morrow." 

The  lady  colored  and  laughed  as  she  dis- 
claimed any  such  desire. 

"  To  be  candid  with  j'ou,"  he  went  on, 
turning  the  lady  into  a  warm  partisan  by  this 


56  jupitee's  daughters. 

semblance  of  confidence, — "  To  be  candid 
with  yon,  nothing  is  more  gratefnl  to  a  man 
tired  of  bnstle  and  agitation,  tlian  a  life  where 
one  day  resembles  another.  It  is  refreshing 
to  see  the  same  faces,  to  listen  to  the  same 
conversations,  over  and  over  again  ;  never  to  be 
disturbed  by  hearing  or  seeing  anything  new. 
It's  a  happiness,  I  assnre  yon,  merely  to  exist 
where  no  one  ventures  to  put  forth  an  opin- 
ion. Paris,  my  usual  home,  becomes  after  a 
time  intolerable,  with  its  never-ending  theo- 
ries, and  its  chase  after  novelty.  The  placid- 
ity which  reigns  here,  the  shade  of  somno- 
lence which  prevails,  is  what  I  adore." 

Tlie  listener  was  to  the  full  as  much  puzzled 
as  flattered  by  this  avowal.  When  she  related 
the  conversation,  as  well  as  she  could,  to 
Madame  Eendu,  tliat  lady,  with  her  practical 
views,  observed — 

"  Probably  M.  Yilpont  meant  what  he  said 
about  being  sick  of  Paris.  She  had  felt  it 
herself ;  and  though  it  appeared  he  could  do 
without  a  profession,  a  long  visit  to  Sept 
Ormes  might  be  a  useful  economy." 

Once  this  opinion  prevailed,  Yilpont,  in 
spite  of  his  fine  linen,  ceased  to  be  an  object 
of  alarm.  Indeed,  he  lapsed  into  the  categoi-y 
of  the  unimportant,  neither  to  be  married  by 
Madame  Chambaud,  nor  reported  of  by  the 
sub-prefect  to  his  chief. 


DISCO  VEKIE8.  57 

CHAPTER  YII. 

DISCOVERIES — ENDING    WITH   A    CONFLAGRATION. 

It  was  not  long  before  it  came  to  Pauline's 
ears  that  M.  Vilpont  had  recommended  M, 
de  Saye  to  propose  for  her,  Gonde,  who 
from  her  kitchen  windows  had  overheard  part 
of  the  young  man's  conversation  on  the  ter- 
race, related  in  her  own  way  what  she  had 
heard  to  the  Arch-priest's  cook  ;  the  Arch- 
priest's  cook  had  given  her  version  to  the 
Joreys'  ladies'-maid,  and  she  again  had  retailed 
the  gossip  to  the  young  ladies  as  they  were 
going  to  bed. 

The  next  mornino;  Pauline  was  told  bv  Ste- 
phanie  and  Julie,  under  the  seal  of  the  strict- 
est confidence,  that  Vilpont  and  De  Saye  had 
cast  lots  which  should  marry  her,  and  that  De 
Saye  liad  won ;  but  he  had  objected  that  she 
dressed  too  extravagantly,  and  had  offered  to 
give  her  up  to  Yilpont,  who  had  distinctly  said 
no — she  was  too  dangerous. 

Pauline,  tliough  lier  face  crimsoned  pain- 
full}', was  less  shocked  than  an  Englisli  girl 
would  have  been  ;  she  knew  how  often  mar- 
riages were  discussed  in  a  bargaining  spirit  in 
France. 

"  Let  us  think  of  some  way  to  punish  them," 
said  Stephanie. 
3* 


58  Jupiter's  daughters. 

"  But  how  can  girls  punish  men  ? "  asked 
the  more  timid  Julie. 

"  Let  us  all  agree  never  to  dance  with 
either  of  them,"  was  Stephanie's  proposal. 

"  No  such  thing ;  that  would  only  make  a 
horrible  talk  through  the  town,  and  perhaps 
tni-n  the  Jaugli  against  me,"  said  PauHne. 
*'  After  all,  u^e  discuss  them  pretty  freely,  and 
we  should  think  M.  Yilpont  very  absurd  if  he 
resented  my  saying  he  was  not  so  handsome 
as  liis  friend." 

"  But  su]ipose  M.  de  Saye  proposes  for  you  ? " 

"  I  shall  take  his  proposal  into  considera- 
tion." 

"  And  if  M.  Yilpont  were  to  come  for- 
ward ?  " 

"  I  should  answer  precisely  in  the  same 
way.  That  is,  however,  not  likely,  as  he  calls 
me  dangerous." 

"  What  could  he  mean  ?  "  asked  Julie. 

"  The  very  cpiestion  I  should  put  if  he  did 
propose." 

"  And  so  yon  have  given  up  your  ideal  ? " 
said  Stephanie. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  never  thouglit  so  much, 
and  so  seriously,  of  him  as  at  the  present 
moment." 

"  I  cannot  make  you  out,  Pauline,  you  are 
so  changed." 

"  Am  I  ? "  returned  the  young  girl,  running 
to  a  glass. 

"Yes,"  continued  Stephanie;  "even  your 
face  is  changed." 


DISCOVERIES.  59 

"  Tell  me  how  and  wliere,  for  I  do  not  see 
it,"  said  Pauline,  pnsliino;  back  her  hair,  and 
droppinfv  on  her  knees  before  Stephanie. 
"  Do  jou  see  any  wrinkles  ?  " 

Stephanie  looked  lon^  at  the  upturned  face. 
"  You  don't  care  for  us  so  much  as  you  did — 
I  know  it,  I  see  it." 

'•  Little  goose !  there  never  Avas  a  time  I 
loved  you  so  much.  When  I  think  that  per- 
haps next  year,  even  in  a  few  months,  we  may 
all  be  separated,  that  we  may  he  at  the  differ- 
ent ends  of  France,  that  all  these  good  talks 
nia}'^  be  over  forever  and  ever,  that  we  may  be 
sick  and  sorry  among  strangers,  I  am  ready  to 
cry."  Here  she  jumped  up,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Suppose  we  all  three  go  to  the  Cure  and 
take  a  solemn  oath  never  to  marry,  always  to 
live  together." 

"  Mamtna  would  never  forgive  us,"  mur- 
mured Julie. 

"  The  Cure  would  not  let  us,"  said  Ste- 
phanie ;  "  besides,  every  one  mari-ies." 

"  Then  let  us  talk  of  something  else,"  re- 
joined Pauline,  a  little  ashamed  of  herself,  as 
we  all  are  when  cold  water  is  thrown  on  our 
enthusiasm. 

Nowhere  is  there  less  liberty  to  do  as  you 
please  than  in  small  towns.  Unless  you  wish 
to  offer  up  your  reputation  and  your  person  as 
food  for  idle  comment,  you  must  learn  to  put 
a  restraint  on  all  your  looks,  words,  and 
actions ;  even  to  take  care  of  yonr  thoughts. 
You  must  do  as  others  do,  have  no  aims  higher 


60  Jupiter's  daughters. 

than  theirs.  You  may  strive  to  be  rich,  to 
marry  your  sons  and  daughters  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage, keeping  your  daughters  strictly  under 
a  veil  as  impenetrable  as  that  of  Isis ;  but  be- 
ware of  generosity,  or  of  enthusiasm,  or  of 
strong  convictions.  Creep,  creep  along  tlie 
smooth,  beaten  path  of  mediocrity,  and  you 
will  meet  your  reward — ^you  will  be  trusted 
and  respected. 

Yilpont  was  once  more  becoming  both 
dreaded  and  despised.  The  discovery  had 
been  made  that  lie  was  an  author.  St.  Gloi 
feared  the  uncommon,  feared  all  that  did  not 
run  on  beaten  paths.  An  author  had  never 
been  seen  in  St.  Gloi.  Yilpont  was  regarded 
as  an  incorporation  of  Dr.  Faustus  and  the 
devil,  and  looked  upon  with  a  curious  mixture 
of  contempt  and  awe. 

De  Saye  came  in  for  his  share  of  blame  for 
introducing  this  writer  of  plays  into  ''  the 
society ; "  but  then  every  one  excused  him  be- 
cause he  was  unmarried,  and  could  not  be  ex- 
pected to  be  so  careful  as  to  his  associates  as 
lie  would  be  by  and  by.  The  matrons  of  St. 
Gloi  had  pitiful  hearts,  as  most  matrons  have, 
for  a  good  parti.  So,  though  treated  with 
additional  reserve,  Yilpont  was  not  yet 
avoided. 

Two  or  three  of  the  most  adventurous 
spirits,  indeed,  had  a  secret  desire  to  see  what 
he  had  written,  but  they  dared  not  breathe 
aloud  that  desire.  The  stupidest  of  the  crtme 
de  la  crhne  nicknamed  him  Le  heau  Unehreux 


DISCO  VEEIES.  61 

— an  epithet  picked  out  of  some  newspaper 
story. 

Only  old  Madame  Jorey  snp]iortcd  Vilpont. 
lie  had  returned  more  than  once  to  visit  the 
lake,  and  each  time  had  called  at  the  chateau 
and  had  a  long  chat  with  bonne  maman. 

Even  these  walks  were  a  subject  for  suspic- 
ion. The  St.  Gloisians  looked  on  woods  and 
valleys  merely  in  the  light  of  mvestments — 
none  understood  disinterested  admiration  for 
the  country — none  among  them,  indeed,  could 
have  found  their  way  through  the  forests  en- 
circling St.  Gloi.  Were  there  not  railways  to 
any  place  which  it  was  necessary  to  visit  ?  So 
the  topograjjhy  of  the  department  was  gener- 
ally ignored  by  what  are  called  the  "  better 
classes." 

Madame  Jorey  stood  her  ground  against  her 
dauo;hters-in-law,  M'ho  were  amono-  the  fiercest 
alarmists.  Tiie  old  lady  declared  she  had 
seen  men  enough  in  her  life  to  know  an  honest 
one  from  a  rogue;  and  though  she  would  not 
answer  for  M.  Yilpont  as  a  saint,  she  would 
guarantee  his  being  a  galant  hornme. 

Matters  were  in  this  dubious  state,  when,  for 
the  first  time  since  Gonde's  gossip  had  reached 
her,  Pauline  and  Vilpont  met  at  an  evening 
party  gi\en  by  Madame  Chambaud. 

That  lady,  still  on  projects  of  matrimony  in- 
tent, had  prudently  kept  herself  neuti'al  as  re- 
garded Vilpont.  How  could  she  invite  M.  de 
Saye  and  not  his  friend  ?  and  liow  promote  a 
preference  in  M.  de  Saye  for  Pauline  if  he 


62  Jupiter's  daughteks. 

never  met  her?  So  Yilpont,  still  nnconscions 
of  his  nn])opularity,  appeared,  with  his  usual 
air  of  indifference,  in  Madame  Chamhaud's 
salon.  lie  did  not  even  remark  a  studied 
coldness  in  the  manner  his  bows  were  received. 
AVhat  he  did  obsei-ve  was  a  defiant  S])arkle  in 
Pauline's  eyes  when  they  met  his.  She,  poor 
child,  was  indiiferent  as  to  his  being  an  author. 
A/hat  she  did  smai't  under  was  his  supposed 
expressed  disapprobation  and  indifference. 
She  had  inteiided  to  make  no  change  in  her 
manner  towards  him  ;  but  it  is  difhcult,  even 
for  the  mo&t  wary,  to  hide  a  strong  impression, 
a  hope,  or  a  doubt.  So  Yilpont  perceived  at 
once  that  she  had  no  longer  any  friendly  feel- 
ing for  him,  and  wondered  what  conld  be  the 
cause  of  the  change.  lie  was  leagues  away 
from  any  right  guess. 

These  tw(j  people  were  equally  preoccupied 
by  one  another,  and  equally  desirous  not  to 
show  that  preoccupation — Vilpont,  from  ex- 
perience of  the  sharpness  of  provincial  eyes  ; 
Pauline,  from  womanly  instinct. 

Nevertheless,  an  irresistible  attraction  was 
drawino^  them  too-ether.  Pauline  struo-o-led 
against  it,  keeping  herself  well  within  a  group 
of  girls,  talking,  whispering,  laughing,  not- 
withstanding many  grave,  rebuking  looks  from 
Madame  Pendu,  or  an  occasional  reproachful 
"  AUons,  done  mesdemoiselles  "  from  other 
mothers. 

"  What  a  child  Pauline  still  is !  "  murmured 
Madame  Chambaud. 


DISCOVERIES,  63 

"  Too  much  so,  niadanie,"  was  the  severe  re- 
joinder. 

Madame  Cliambaud's  request  for  the  usual 
dose  of  music  had  l)een  met  by  so  universal  a 
pleading  for  the  cotillon,  that  she  had  yielded 
to  the  popular  voice. 

M.  de  Saye  and  Madame  Greemard  were 
elected  as  leaders. 

Vilpont,  saying  he  had  long  given  up  danc- 
ing, took  a  seat  by  Madame  Ilendn.  lie  had 
a  secret  wisli  to  ])ropitiate  her. 

"  A  poor  exhibition  for  you,  monsieur,"  was 
how  she  began  lier  attack.  "  A  poor  exhibi- 
tion for  you,  who  are  accustomed  to  Paris  and 
the  ballet." 

"  This  is  a  far  prettier  sight,  madame,  than 
a  ballet — as  superior  as  fresh  flowers  are  to 
artificial  ones." 

"  Monsieur  is  very  polite." 

"  And  v>'ith  perfect  sincerity,  madame." 

Vilpont  was  watching  Pauline.  One  of  the 
prettiest  figures  of  the  cotillon  is  that  in  which 
the  cavalier  carries  a  net  to  catch  the  buttei-fiy 
the  lady  waves  before  him,  fixed  on  the  end  of 
a  flexible  wand.  M.  de  Saye  was  the  pursuer, 
and  Pauline  the  defender.  Vilp(.)nt  was  really 
justified  in  his  admiration — so  swiftlv,  so 
gracefully  did  the  girl  bend  and  elude  all  at- 
tacks. It  was  evident  to  him  that  her  de- 
fence was  in  earnest.  The  struggle  was  so 
prolonged  that  the  lookers-on  grew  interested, 
and  stood  \\\>  to  see  the  result.  De  Saye,  so 
noted  a  cotillon  hero,  was  piqued  by  such  res- 


64  Jupiter's  daughters. 

olute  resistance,  and  pnt  forth  all  his  strength 
and  dexterity,  using  his  advantages  of  heiglit 
and  lengtli  of  arm.  More  than  once  the  but- 
terfl)^  escaped  capture  but  by  a  hair's-breadth  ; 
until,  when  so  sorely  pressed  that  defeat 
seemed  certain,  a  flash  of  Are  sparkled  on  the 
end  of  the  wand.  With  a  cry  of  dismay  the 
dancers  dispersed.  Tlie  butterfly  had  caught 
fire  at  one  of  the  candles  of  the  chandelier — 
whether  by  accident  or  design,  Pauline  kept 
to  herself.  With  a  low  curtsey  to  M.  de  Saye, 
she  went  to  her  mother's  side. 

"  Permit  me  to  offer  you  my  compliments, 
mademoiselle,  on  your  graceful  and  successful 
defence,"  said  Yilpont. 

"  I  do  not  approve  of  playing  with  fire,"  ob- 
served Madame  Rendu,  not  at  all  pleased. 
"  Why,"  thought  she,  "  could  not  Pauline  man- 
age to  be  more  like  other  girls?" 

"  I  am  sorry  for  the  butterfly  ;  it  was  very 
pretty,"  said  Pauline. 

Madame  Rendu  was  ol)liged  at  this  moment 
to  listen  to  a  long-winded  oration  from  the 
pedantic  young  Juge  d'Instruction. 

\^ilp<mt,  standing  behind  Pauline,  said  in  a 
low  voice — 

"  You  burned  the  butterfly  on  purpose." 

"O  monsieur!  do  not  give  yourself  the 
trouble  to  explain  a  little  girl's  whims.  They 
are  often  silh',  but  never  dangerous." 

All  the  eveniner  Pauline  had  been  meditat- 
ing  how,  in  speaking,  she  could  manage  to 
bring  in  that  (offending  word.     She  had  laid 


DISCOVERIES.  65 

more  e?nphasia  on  it  than  she  was  conscious  of 
doing-,  and,  thouo-li  she  did  her  best  to  look 
iniconscious,  Vilpont  felt  that  there  was  more 
meant  than  met  the  ear, 

"  Is  that  a  riddle  for  me  to  guess  ?  "  and  he 
iixed  her  eyes  tirinly  with  his  own.  It  was 
hawk  and  jenny-wren. 

There  was  a  passing  little  quiver  of  the  girl's 
lips,  which  tacitly  invoked  his  mercy;  but 
otherwise  she  did  not  quail,  and  said  proudly — 

"  You  have  no  right  to  suppose  anything 
about  me !  " 

"  I  beg  you  a  thousand  pardons,  mademoi- 
selle,"   And  he  left  her. 

Pauline  went  to  bed  that  night  believing 
that  she  was  glad  f^he  had  offended  M,  Vil- 
pont, 

As  M,  de  Saye  and  Yilpont  went  home, 
Gaston  said — 

"  Let  us  walk  quick.  That  cotillon  was  as 
bad  as  a  vapor-bath." 

"Mademoiselle  Pauline  is  as  nimble  as  a 
squirrel,"  returned  Vilpont. 

"  Not  so  nimble  but  that  I  could  have  caught 
her  but  for  that  stupid  accident." 

"  Ah  !  yes.  How  did  she  manage  it — so  lit- 
tle as  she  is  ?  " 

"  Manage  it !  You  don't  suppose  she  did  it 
on  purpose  ? " 

"  I  suspect  so.  And  I  retract  the  advice  I 
gave  you  about  her." 

"  A  girl's  coquetry  need  be  no  scarecrow." 

"  As  you  please." 


60  jupitek's  daughteks. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  thinking  of  her  for  your- 
self?" 

''  Were  I  as  good  a  fellow  as  I  was  at 
twenty-five,  and  with  all  the  money  I  have 
squandered  in  the  meantime,  I  should  try  my 
luck.  How  she  came  to  be  the  chikl  of  that 
father  and  mother  is  a  miracle ;  unless,  in- 
deed, it  is  a  case  of  reversion,  such  as  Darwin 
mentions,  to  the  inerits  of  some  remote  and 
exceptional  ancestor.  No  ;  I  am  not  thinking 
of  her  for  myself.  Life  is  for  her  yet  a  fairy 
tale,  full  of  light  and  joy  ;  mine  is  like  a  mod- 
ern ruin.  Besides,  I  am  about  to  bid  you  good- 
by.     To-morrow  I  begin  my  farewell  visits." 

"  Going  already  ? "  exclaimed  De  Saye, 
striving  after  a  tone  of  regret. 

"  Already  ?  "  repeated  Vilpont  laughing  ; 
"  don't  be  severe  on  my  tardiness." 

De  Saye  grumbled  some  words  in  his  beard. 

"  I  am  off  to  Ilomburg,  or  Baden-Baden,  or 
some  other  place  of  Satanic  gathering,"  added 
Vilpont. 


WHO    WAS    LAST    NOW   FIRST.  67 

CHAPTER  YIII. 

WHO   WAS   LAST   NOW   FIEST. 

ViLPONT  sowed  liis  cards  of  adieu  liberally 
tlirongli  the  town ;  he  neglected  no  one  with 
whom  he  had  even  exchanged  a  bow.  He  was 
admitted  at  the  Ivendus.  Madame  (who  was 
alone)  had  never  been  so  nearly  civil  to  him  as 
when  she  heard  he  was  going  away  directly ; 
and  yet,  though  pleased  that  this  man,  who 
had  no  business  in  St.  Gloi,  should  go,  she 
could  not  help  saying,  in  a  tone  of  pique,  that 
''he  must  have  made  a  great  sacrifice  to  friend- 
ship in  staying  so  long  in  so  dull  a  place." 

Vilpont,  determined  that  he  would  not  allow 
her  to  ride  over  him  as  she  did  every  one, 
answered  in  a  lofty  way,  which  had  its  effect 
on  her — 

"  My  dear  lady,  we  are  no  judges  of  one 
another's  sacrifices,  the  best  of  which  often  re- 
main unknown." 

He  then  thanked  her  for  the  hospitality  shown 
to  a  stranger,  and,  with  his  liommages  errvpresses 
for  Mademoiselle  Pauline,  bowed  himself  out 
of  the  room  in  a  manner  unattainable  by  any 
but  a  Frenchman  born. 

At   dinner   Vilpont   mentioned  rather  em- 

¥hatically  that  he  had  paid  his  visit  to  the 
fendus,    but    had    not    seen    Mademoiselle 
Pauline.     He  laughed   at   the  stiffness   with 


QS  Jupiter's  daughters. 

which  he  had  been  received  everywhere,  and 
ended  by  fixing  to  leave  the  day  after  the  next. 
He  should  devote  the  following  morning  to  old 
Madame  Jorey,  the  only  person  who  had  really 
been  cordial  to  him. 

De  Saye  had  recovered  his  good-lnimor,  and 
was  even  more  than  usnally  demonstrative. 
Eloque  had  a  petrified  grin  on  his  face  as  he 
obeyed  the  order  to  bring  St.  Peray  and 
Chateau  Margaux.  He  nudged  Gonde  when 
he  went  down  to  fetch  the  wine. 

"  How  he  loves  his  friend  !  how  sorry  he  is 
that  he  is  iroing  !  " 

"  Old  bear  !  "  returned  Gonde  ;  then  to  her- 
self, "  Why  does  he  go  ?  he  has  had  no  letter. 
He  did  not  mean  it  three  davs  ago,  for  he  said 
nothing  about  his  linen  from  the  wash." 

The  friends  had  promised  to  spend  the 
evening  at  the  bank-director's.  To  their  sur- 
prise, they  found  quite  a  large  party  assem- 
bled. A  Madame  d'Allot  and  her  young 
daughter  had  arrived  quite  unexpectedly,  and 
as  unexpectedly  the  young  secretary  of  the 
prefect  had  come  on  an  official  errand  to  the 
baidv-director. 

Madame  Perrotier  had  at  once  sent  to  invite 
the  Pendus  and  Chaml^auds  for  the  evening. 

Madame  d'Allot  was  a  true  Parisian — lively 
eyes,  tine  hair,  a  ravishing  toilette,  pretty, 
without  one  pretty  feature.  Tlie  daughter, 
yet  a  mere  child,  a  nice  little  puppet,  that  an- 
swered well  as  a  chaperone. 

l!scver  had  Vilpont  received  such  a  flatter- 


WHO    WAS    LAST   NOW    FIRST.  GQ. 

ing  welcome  in  St.  Gloi.  He  wondered  at 
first  If  he  owed  this  cordiality  to  the  knowl- 
edge tliat  he  was  going  away.  But  he  soon 
found  that  he  was  indebted  to  Madame  • 
d' Allot,  who  had  been  enlii^-htenino-  the  com- 
pany  as  to  M.  Vilpont's  importance  in  Fans. 
81ie  had  told  them,  in  wittily  covert  terms, 
that  they  had  Iteen  contemning.  Apollo,  and 
assuredly  he  would  send  some  of  his  arrows  to 
punish  them. 

Half  mystified  and  half  regretful  were  the 
feelino;s  of  her  listeners.  Madame  d' Allot 
herself  had  neither  eyes  nor  ears  tor  any  one 
but  Yilpont.  The  young  secretary,  type  of  all 
Cherubinos  past  and  future,  was  instructing 
Pauline  as  to  Vilpont's  fame  and  genius.  As 
the  two  young  heads  leaned  toward  one 
another,  Madame  d' Allot  said  in  a  loud  whis- 
per— 

"What  a  pretty  picture! — subject  for  an 
idyl." 

"Ancient  history  for  me,"  laughed  Yil- 
pont. 

Presently  the  young  secretary,  who  was  by 
no  means  troubled  with  bashfulness,  said  to 
Madame  Perottier — 

"  If  it  would  afford  you  pleasure,  madame,  I 
should  be  happy  to  recite  some  pages  of  M. 
Vilpont's  most  celebrated  poems." 

The  proposition  was,  with  some  trepidation, 
accepted.  Vilpont  made  no  objection,  simply 
beijirino-  to  be  allowed  t(^  sit  in  a  corner. 

Cherubino    assumed     an    appropriate  pose. 


TO  JUPITEU'S    DArOIlTERS, 

lie  recited  well  what  was  in  truth  a  touchino: 
Story  told  in  beautiful  verse. 

Yilpont,  from  his  refuge,  had  a  view  of 
Pauline,  He  saw  her  gradually  slip  behind 
the  curtain  of  the  window  near  which  she  sat. 
Could  he  doubt  it  was  done  to  conceal  her 
emotion  'i 

The  poem,  perhaps,  took  up  half  an  hour, 
and  was  concluded  amid  a  clapping  of  hands 
and  application  of  embroidered  handkerchiefs 
to  the  ladies'  eyes,  Yilpont  was  complimented 
in  all  keys.'  Pauline  remained  hiding  behind 
the  curtain.  He  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to 
her.  lie  saw  that  she  looked  grave.  To  his 
dismay,  he  heard  her  say  to  (vherubino — 

"  Oh  !  forgive  me,  but  it  was  so  lt)ng,  it  sent 
me  to  sleep.     Poetry  always  does." 

For  the  nonce  Vilpont  felt  that  Pauline  was 
as  unsuited  to  him  as  he  to  her.  lie  told  the 
story  to  De  Saye  with  much  humor. 

"It  is  charming,"  he  said,  "to  be  innocent, 
but  not  too  innocent — of  nothing  too  much." 

The  followino;  mornino;  he  set  off  to  bid  old 
Madame  Jorey  good-by.  He  ^vas  eager  to 
leave  St.  Gloi.  The  only  creature  in  it  who 
had  interested  him  liad  turned  out  a  disap- 
pointment. Ilis  imagination  had  invented  a 
Pauline  quite  different  from  the  real  one.  He 
wished  her  well — a  g(X)d  bourgeois  husband 
with  plenty  of  money  and  very  little  wit. 
The  whole  length  of  the  walk,  Pauline  occu- 
pied his  thought.  He  was  angry  with  her — 
Avhat  right  had  she  to  be  stupid,  with  that  face 


WHO    WAS    LAST    NOW    FIRST.  71 

60  full  of  animation?  And  he  had  thonglit 
her  too  good  to  be  tlie  child  of  the  Tiendus  ! 
Pauline  had  thoroughly  avenged  the  offence 
reported  by  Gonde. 

In  this  mood  Vilpont  reached  Chateau  Ste. 
Marie.  It  is  perfectly  unlike  an  English 
country-house,  or  indeed  any  sort  of  English 
house.  It  is  a  large,  bare,  white  building,  the 
white  turned  green  and  mouldy  at  all  the 
corners,  and  round  the  windows.  It  stands  on 
a  slight  rise  in  the  middle  of  a  paddock  parched 
to  a  brown  yellow  at  that  moment.  All  the 
beauty  of  the  place  lies  away  aniong  the  hills 
sheltering  the  lake. 

Madame  Jorey  cared  nothing  for  scenery, 
and  a  great  deal  for  her  vineyards  on  the  Cotes 
Ste.  Marie,  these  coteH  being  sharply  steep  hills 
divided  from  each  other  by  deep  gorges,  which 
every  year  are  ploughed  deeper  and  deeper  by 
mountain  torrents.  Bonne  mmnan  was  an 
excellent  woman  of  business,  as  indeed  French- 
women generally  are  ;  probably  the  result  of 
the  equal  division  of  property.  As  a  rule, 
there  is  not  nuich  helplessness  among  women 
in  France;  they  have  more  connnon-sense  and 
less  imagination  than  their  sisters  in  neighbor- 
ing countries. 

Vilpont  found  honne  maman  in  her  morn- 
ing dress,  a  lose  print  jacket  and  dimity  petti- 
coat, her  gray  hair  twisted  up  in  l)rown-paper 
j)aj>illotcs,  and  busy  with  a  cooper,  inspecting 
empty  wine-barrels.  She  welcomed  her  vis- 
itor  without   any   embarrassment ;   sent   him 


72  jupitke's  daughters. 

into  the  lioiise,  promising  to  join  him  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  wlien  the  twelve  o'clock 
breakfast  would  be  ready. 

Yilpont  did  as  he  was  bid,  making  friends 
with  one  of  the  fat  maids  to  get  the  dust  taken 
off  his  outer  man,  and  then  made  himself  com- 
fortable on  the  one  sofa  in  the  room,  a  sofa 
large  enough,  however,  to  make  three  modern 
ones.  He  did  wdiat  all  people  do  who  write — 
observe,  compare,  and  reflect  wlienin  a  strange 
place.  He  noticed  the  complete  absence  of 
any  signs  of  refinement ;  indeed,  a  stranger  to 
the  country  might  have  mistaken  such  scanti- 
ness and  coarseness  in  the  curtains,  such  al)- 
sence  of  carpets,  such  hardness  and  diminu- 
tiveness  in  the  (thairs,  as  signs  of  smalhiess  of 
means.  But  all  these  things  were  but  the  out- 
ward signs  of  the  character  and  habits  of  their 
owner.  Madame  Jorey  was  yet  near  enough 
to  her  peasant  ancestors  to  love  hoarding  for 
hoarding's  sake.  As  long  as  she  had  good 
strong  chairs  to  sit  on,  a  good  bed  to  lie  on, 
and  plenty  to  put  on  her  deal  table,  she  was 
satisfied.  Her  eyes,  as  she  declared,  did  not 
require  to  be  feasting  on  silks  and  velvets.  She 
was  one  of  those  penetrated  by  the  wisdom  of 
saving  sous.  She  shrunk  from  the  fact  of 
parting  witii  coin,  but  not  with  coin's  worth. 
She  was  liberal  to  her  poor  neigh boi-s  witli 
milk  and  wine  and  flour,  wilfully  blind  to  the 
bundles  of  brushwood  gleaned  in  her  woods  ; 
but  ask  her  for  money,  and  she  lost  her  tem- 
per.    She  did  her  visitor  tlic  lionor  of  taking 


WHO    WAS   LAST   NOW   FIRST.  73 

her  hair  out  of  paper  before  sitting  down  to 
table. 

The  breakfast,  thouo;li  served  on  common 
ware,  was  excellent.  Yilpont  said  no  better 
could  have  been  liad  in  Paris. 

"Paris!"  exclaimed  the  old  lady;  "you 
never  got  such  cream,  or  eggs,  or  bread  in 
Paris.  Don't  talk  to  me  about  Paris.  Stay 
to  dinner,  and  see  if  Nanette  doesn't  beat  your 
Paris." 

Vilpont  told  her  that  his  visit  was  a  farewell 
one — he  was  to  be  oft  the  next  day. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?" 

"  First  to  Paclen-Baden— " 

"  You  would  do  much  better  to  stay  away. 
What's  taking  you  there  ?  " 

"  Idleness,  and,  ]n-incipally,  want  of  a  home." 

"  Poor  fellow  ! — why  don't  you  marry  ?  " 

He  made  a  grimace. 

"  That's  nonsense,"  she  said  ;  "  don't  tell  me. 
You  are  not  of  the  sort  that  don't  like  women, 
or  that  women  don't  like.  I  can  judge,  though 
I  am  a  o;randmother,  a  man  of  your  acre  ouMit 
to  be  married,  and  have  some  little,  brown 
brats  creeping  aliout  his  knees.  Tliat's  better 
than  running  after  powder-faced  dolls,  who 
have  as  little  heart  as  beauty." 

"  My  dear  lady,  I  am  woi  rich  enough  to 
marry ;  and  I  have  besides  a  decided  objection 
to  our  French  system  of  marriage." 

"Y^ou're  wrong,  altogether  wrong.  I  mar- 
ried my  husband  after  seeing  him  twice,  and  I 
did  very  well.  My  sons  married  the  girls  I 
4 


74  jutitek's  daughters, 

chose  for  them,  and  their  liouseholds  are  happy 
ones.  Now,  listen  to  me,  my  friend:  when 
folks  marry  for  love,  they  begin  with  a  wliole 
l)atch  of  illusions,  which  day  by  day  vam'sh,  and 
often  the  once  loving  pair  come  cordially  to 
hate  one  another — I  have  seen  it.  But  when 
parents  make  the  choice,  they  do  so  with  all 
their  reason ;  they  look  out  for  good  health, 
good  antecedents — a  great  deal  in  antecedents; 
good  conduct  runs  in  the  blood,  so  does  had. 
If  a  woman  behaves  well,  and  makes  a  house 
comfortable,  the  inan  comes  to  vahie  her;  and 
as  soon  as  he  does  that,  she  loves  him.  Women 
are  made  so — they  give  a  great  deal  for  very 
Httle." 

"  Suppose  I  agree  with  your  theory,  what 
then  ?  I  have  no  |)arents  to  choose  a  wife  for 
me  ;  my  only  near  relation,  and  uncle  in  Bre- 
tagne,  hates  my  very  name,  because  1  refuse 
to  burjMiiyself  with  him  and  his  prejudices; 
and  then,  as  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  telling 
you,  I  am  poor,  aiid  have  a  decided  horror  of 
heiresses." 

"  Il'm — how  do  you  manage  to  live  ?  " 

"  As  you  ab-eady  know,  by  writing  plays  and 
story-books." 

The  good  lady  said  ra]Mdly,  "  Tiens,  tiens, 
tiens,  tiens  !  " — just  as  an  Englishwoman  would 
have  exclaimed,  "  Deai",  dear  me  !  " 

"  And  you  can  li\-e  bv  that  "i " 

"  Tolerably." 

"  Now  will  you  satisfy  an  old  woman's  cu- 
riosity.    How  much  do  you  gain  ?  " 


WHO    WAS    LAST    NOW    FIKST.  75 

Tie  took  out  a  pocket-book. — "My  author's 
rights  on  my  hist  comedy  brought  me  in  eigh- 
teen months  twenty  thousand  francs ;  that  is 
all  spent.  Gof)d  year  and  bad  year,  wo  may 
reckon  that  I  make  from  twonty-iive  to  thirty 
thousand  francs;  and  with  tlie  interest  of  a 
small  patrimony,  I  sometimes  manage  to  get 
thi-ough  the  year  -without  lieavy  debts." 

Bonne  inanicm  stared  at  him  with  open 
mouth. 

"  You  are  not  tellinor  me  fairv  tales?" 

"  On  my  word  of  honor." 

"  AVell,  that  a  man  can  make  all  that  money 
by  a  parcel  of  lies  does  make  my  gray  hair 
bristle  up." 

Vilpont  laughed,  saying,  "  There  is  often 
more  truth  in  comedy  than  in  histoiy." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  said,  "  I  am  afraid 
you  are  right  not  to  marry,  for  I  suppose  you 
live  among  those  theatre-people." 

"Of  course,  I  see  a  great  deal  of  them  ;  I 
have  to  dance  attendance  on  the  lady  who  acts 
my  heroine,  to  study  her  style  of  beauty,  her 
humors,  even  occasionally  to  fancy  myself  in 
love  with  her,  and  make  her  fancy  it  also." 

^'' Fripon^  hold  your  tongue!  don't  talk  to  a 
decent  grandmother  of  such  doings  !  I  give 
you  up." 

"  That  is  the  bad  result  of  my  sincerity." 

"  You  camiot  hope,"  she  said,  "  that  I  should 
recommend  any  nice  girl  to  marry  you." 

"  Such  a  hope  is  the  furthest  from  my 
thoughts.     I  am  quite  aware  that  my  past  is 


76  JUriTEE'S    DALrGIITJ:KS, 

to  be  the  executioner  of  my  future.  I  begin 
to  understand  now  the  coldness  with  which  I 
have  been  lately  treated  by  my  St.  Gloi  ac- 
quaintances, and  believe  me  when  1  say  you 
arc  the  only  one  I  quit  with  regret." 

"  Ah,  you  serpent  beguiling  my  ears  !  But 
I  am  not  going  to  let  you  off  so  easily.  My 
sons  and  their  families  are  away  to  see  after 
their  own  vinta<>:e,  so  there's  no  danii;er  in  that 
quarter.  You  want  looking  after  ;  you  are  a 
mere  bag  of  bones.  I  expect  to  liear  them 
rattle  as  you  walk.  Come  and  stay  a  week  in 
this  good  air  and  get  strong,  for  your  horrible 
Baden.  I'll  give  you  a  room  looking  to  the 
west,  where  you  can  write  your  poetry,  for  I 
never  need  company  during  the  day — there's 
something  in  that  yellow  face  of  yours  I  like 
— and  in  the  evening  you  can  tell  me  more 
about  your  life." 

"  You  are  very  kind." 

''  That's  what  I  mean  to  be.  So  you'll  stay. 
I'll  send  for  your  clothes,  and  you  can  write 
to  your  friend  not  to  expect  you  back  yet 
awhile." 


A   LILIPUTIAN   VENGEANCE.  77 

CHAPTER  IX. 

k   LILIPUTIAN   YENGEA.NCB. 

^  According  as  chance  places  people,  so  do 
they  show  different  sides  of  themselves.  We 
know  that  it  is  so  by  the  various  judgments 
passed  on  the  same  individuals  by  their  acy. 
^quaintauces.  Approval  in  country  towns  is 
most'  generally  allotted  to  those  who  never 
buffet  against  the  current,  who  accept  routine 
as  the  surest  of  guides.  De  Sayc  was  one  of 
this  type  ;  Vilpont  of  that  other,  which  chooses 
an  eccentric  orbit.  The  appellation  of  "  Lion" 
figures  forth  the  feeling  excited  in  obscure 
places  by  unusual  talents. 

Vilpont  was  considered  decidedly  unpleasant 
by  the  St.  Gloisians ;  they  were  pleased  to 
hear  of  his  departure. 

Madame  Jorey  (though  she  did  not  make  it 
known)  had  a  decided  admiration  for  him, 
ripening  into  a  real  liking.  She  was  reckoned 
by  her  daughters-in-law  and  their  set  as  un- 
couth and  stupid.  Vilpont  found  her  shrewd, 
with  quick  perceptions  and  an  affectionate 
disposition.  Tlie  man  of  letters  and  the 
woman  of  none  passed  a  cheerful  evening  to- 
gether ;  indeed,  Vilpont  had  not  been  once  so 
pleasant  during  the  couple  of  months  he  liad 
spent  in  St.  Gloi,  as  he  was  during  this  after- 
dinner  chat.     His  very  face  seemed  changed. 


V 


78  Jupiter's  daughters. 

"  You  look  3^ounger  already  than  yon  did 
this  morning,"  observed  Madame  Jorey.  "  How 
old  are  you  ? " 

"  My  thirty-third  birtliday  is  close  at  hand." 

"  I  took  you  for  older.  I  shall  marry  you 
yet." 

"  What  a  pity  you  are  not  yourself  five-and- 
twenty  years  younger,  madame." 

"  Ah !  lad,  a  fine  couple  we  should  have 
made — fire  and  water.  I  should  have  done 
my  best,  I  can  tell  you,  to  put  out  your  fire. 
1  could  never  have  abided  your  actresses." 

"I  will  tell  you  something  that  will  surprise 
you  :  I  have  never  been  in  love  yet." 

"  Ta — ta — ta  ! — you  expect  an  old  woman 
like  me  to  believe  you,  I  know  your  sex  bet- 
ter; from  the  time  they  put  on  their  colle- 
gian's uniform  they  are  always  in  love,  the  lit- 
tle rascals.  When  I  was  six,  I  had  a  love-let- 
ter from  a  boy  of  eight." 

"  Allowed ;  but  I  am  speaking  of  some  veiy 
different  feeling— one  that  would  send  a  man 
to  Kamschatka  or  bring  him  back  at  a  woman's 
will." 

"  One  of  your  monstrous  theatrical  lies ! 
And  how  long  do  you  think  you  would  care 
for  that  same  woman  ?  As  soon  as  she  be- 
lono;ed  to  you,  you  would  be  for  sending  her 
to  Kamschatka,  and  not  bringing  her  back.  I 
thought  you  liad  more  sense.' 

The  next  day  Vilpont  wandered  to  the  lake. 
As  he  rested  under  the  shade  of  the  trees,  the 
scene  of  the  girls  in  the  boat,  the  withered  old 


A   IJLEPDTIAN   VENGEANCE,  79 

man,  living  or  rather  dying  in  his  illusions,  the 
pi'cvious  pi-etty  |)icture  of  the  bonbon-making, 
till  returned  in  force  to  his  memory,  suggesting 
the  groundwork  of  a  new  poem,  lie  was 
roused  from  a  deep  reverie  by  a  shrill  shout. 
Looking  up,  he  saw  his  dream  realized.  Pau- 
line Rendu  was  rowiuo^  towards  him.  As  the 
boat  approached  the  shore,  he  saw  that  her 
companions  were  not  the  Mesdemoiselles  Jo- 
rey,  but  Madame  d' Allot  and  her  young 
daughter. 

"  Madame  Jorey  sent  iis  in  search  of  you," 
screamed  little  Mademoiselle  d' Allot  at  the  top 
of  her  voice. 

Pauline  looked  flushed  with  her  exertions. 

Madame  d' Allot  insisted  on  getting  out  of 
the  boat  just  where  Vil[)ont  was  now  standing, 
in  spite  of  Pauline's  telling  her  that  the  usual 
landing-place  was  not  twenty  yards  distant. 
No;  Madame  d'Allot  could  jump  ashore  if  M. 
Vilpont  would  promise  to  catch  her,  which  M. 
Vilpont  agreed  to  do  with  the  eagerness  in- 
cumbent on  him  to  show. 

"  If  you  let  me  drop,  I  shall  never  forgive 
you,"  said  the  lady,  balancing  herself  on  the 
stern  of  the  boat  in  an  attitude  that  reminded 
Vilpont  of  a  heroine  of  melodrama. 

"  Steady,  Mademoiselle  Pauline  !  "  he  cried 
out,  and  Mademoiselle  Pauline  kept  her  oars 
quiet,  with  an  expression  of  profound  disgust 
on  her  face. 

"  One,  two,  three ! "  and  the  lady  sprung 
into  the  arras  of  the  gentleman,  who  held  her 


80  Jupiter's  daughteks. 

in  as  tio:ht  a  clasp  as  she  could  desire  before 
setting  her  Cinderella  feet  on  the  ground. 

"  Now  Alix,"  cried  the  widow  to  her  daugh- 
ter. 

"  Thank  you,  mamma ;  I  am  fat  and  afraid." 

Off  went  the  boat  Math  rapid  strokes.  Ma- 
dame d' Allot  cried  out — 

"But  my  daughter — come,  come  !  " 

"Adieu,  adieu!"  chorused  the  two  girls, 
as  the  boat  glided  away. 

"  It  is  a  bad  trick,"  said  Madame  d' Allot. 

Yilpont  was  waving  his  hat  and  laughing. 
Pauline  bid  Alix  wave  her  handkerchief  in 
return.  The  boy  steering  grinned  with  de- 
light. 

"  AVe  have  a  long  walk  before  us,  madame  ; 
for  we  must  go  round  the  lake  to  reach  the 
Chateau." 

"  What  a  spiteful  girl !  Kone  but  a  pro- 
vincial would  have  behaved  so  rudely ;  and 
Alix — suppose  she  is  drowned  !  " 

Madame  d' Allot  was  frightened  as  well  as 
angry  ;  and  she  hated  walking,  particularly  in 
those  lovely  tight  boots. 

"  Mademoiselle  Alix  is  safe,"  said  Yilpont; 
"  the  boat  is  made  so  that  it  cannot  upset,  and 
we  can  take  it  leisurely.  Do  you  grudge  me 
this  pleasure — the  greater  for  being  unex- 
pected ;  so  long  since  any  such  came  in  my 
way,"  etc.,  etc. 

Yil])ont  knew  the  part  he  had  to  play,  and 
did  it  unexceptionably. 

Madame  d'AUot  liked  admiration  and  flirt- 


A   LILIPUTIAN   VENGEANCE.  81 

ing  as  well  as  most  of  her  compeers,  but  she 
was  not  sentimentally  given  ;  she  made  excur- 
sions into  the  p(^ys  de  tetulre  simply  as-  a  pas- 
time. She  skimmed  along  its  frontiers  with 
men,  just  as  she  talked  millinery  with  her 
millhier. 

So,  leaning  on  Yilpont's  arm,  now  meeting, 
now  avoiding  his  admiring  gaze,  in  the  most 
approved  fashion,  she  let  him  know  that  St. 
Gloi  was  in  convulsions  of  curiosity  to  find 
out  wliy  he  had  chosen  to  leave  M.  de  Saye 
to  have  a  tete-d-tete  with  cette  vieille  menagere. 
M.  de  Save  had  smiled,  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  called  it  a  poetical  license. 

"  To  save  your  reputation,  monsieur,"  she 
went  on,  "  I  coaxed  that  bunch  of  thorns, 
Madame  Rendu,  to  drive  me  here  (a  work  of 
charity,  you  understand),  that  I  might  tranquil- 
lize the  minds  of  the  St.  Gloisians." 

"  A  good,  beautiful  fairy  !  Are  you  tired  ? 
Shall  we  rest  \  " 

"  No.  We  must  not  give  that  dreadful  girl 
too  much  time  to  tell  her  stor}^ ;  but  now,  do 
explain  wliy  you  bury  yourself  liere." 

"  Simple  as  two  and  two  make  four.  Ma- 
dame Jorey  desired  me  to  stay,  and  I  stayed. 
I  nerer  know  Iiow  to  say  no  to  a  woman, 
whatever  lier  age.  I  am  a  perfect  slave  to  any 
of  the  dear  sex  who  shows  me  kindness." 

"  Men  are  are  not  in  o-eneral  noted  for  o-rat- 
itude." 

"  How  strangely  women  ignore  our  natures. 
Madame  Jorey  says  just  as  you  do.  Now,  I 
4* 


82  tupitee's  daughtees. 

take  all  my  gods  to  witness  that  I  am  like 
melted  wax  to  kindness.  With  me  love  begets 
love  ;  I  could  not  love  where  there  was  no  re- 
sponse.'' 

"  How  often  have  you  made  the  experi- 
ment ? " 

"  Several  times.  Once,  indeed,  I  was  nearly- 
attaching  myself  like  a  limpet  to  a  rock,  when, 
kickily  or  unluckily,  I  received  a  note  in  which 
cceur  was  spelled  cure.  I  tried  to  pardon  the 
offence — in  vain.  Ah !  dear  lady,  I  have 
more  memories  of  painful  liberations  than 
of  happy  captivities.  I  have  sung  my  dream 
in  the  emptiness  of  many  a  heart."  * 

"  It's  so  easy  for  a  man  to  say  he  has  suf- 
fered— so  difficult  to  make  sure  of  it,"  said  the 
lady,  beginning  to  feel  sorry  she  had  taken  the 
ti'ouble  to  look  after  Vilpont. 

During  this  time  the  boat,  though  still  in 
sight,  was  speeding  away  from  the  couple  ;  all 
at  once,  however,  they  saw  it  turn  and  make 
towards  them. 

"  1  hate  that  girl  Rendu,"  said  Madame 
d' Allot ;  "  she  looks  as  innocent  as  milk,  and 
she  is  as  sharp  as  vinegar," 

"  We  must  ]-eceive  the  repentant  sinner 
with  joy,"  said  Vilpont ;  "  particularly  as  her 
return  will  save  fatigue  to  those  lovely  little 
feet,  never  meant  to  tread  rough  roads." 

Pauline  was  in  truth  repenting  her  esca- 
pade, and  rather  alarmed  for  its  consequences. 

*  "  J'ai  fait  chanter  mon  reve  au  vide  de  ton  coeur." — 
CorneiUe. 


A    LILIPUTIAN    VENGEANCE.  83 

Madame  d'AlIot  made  no  remark  imtil  she 
was  again  safely  seated  on  the  boat-cushions. 
Yilp;)nt  had  asked  and  obtained  a  place,  and 
now  took  an  oar  to  assist  Pauline. 

"  Pi-ay,  young  ladies,"  began  Madame  d'Al- 
Iot, "  will  you  give  us  some  explanation  of 
your  conduct." 

"  Don't  be  angry,  mamma,  dear,"  said  the 
fat  Alice,  smoothing  down  her  mother's  arm 
with  her  little  red  fingers.  "  Pauline  said  she 
was  afraid  to  stay  alone  in  the  boat,  and  she 
could  not  jump  because  of  her  ugly  boots." 

"  Yanity  is  always  a  bad  counsellor,  made- 
moiselle," said  Vilpont,  with  great  gravity. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  was  the  reply,  with  a  de- 
mure look. 

When  they  were  landing,  Pauline  said  to 
Madame  d'Allot : 

"  Be  so  very  good,  madame,  as  not  to  com- 
plain of  ine.  My  mother  would  be  very  angry 
if  she  knew  how  rude  I  have  been — and  I  beg 
your  pardon," 

"  It  is  not  worth  speaking  about,  mademoi- 
selle," returned  the  lady  dryly. 

Pauline  kept  entirely  in  the  background 
during  the  whole  evening,  often  hid  from 
siirht  behind  her  o;od mother's  broad  back, 

When  they  were  all  gone,  Madame  Jorey 
said  to  Yilpont — 

"  My  god-daughter  is  a  jewel  of  a  girl. 
Could  any  man  look  in  her  face,  and  fear  to 
take  her  on  trust  ?  " 

"  The   surface   is   very   fair,"    he   replied ; 


84  Jupiter's  daugiitees. 

"  but  what  woman's  looks  can  he  trusted  ? 
Mj  trade  makes  me  an  observer  of  trifles  ;  and 
from  one  or  two  little  incidents  that  have  oc- 
curred, I  infer  Mademoiselle  Pauline  is  some- 
thing quick-tempered." 

"  What  is  that  you  tell  me  ? "  exclaimed 
Madame  Jorey,  starting  up  and  standing  be- 
fore him,  one  arm  akiml^o.  "Pauline  quick- 
tem])ered  ?  Why,  Mr.  Author,  she  is  just  clear 
sunshine,  making  all  things  bright  and  pleas- 
aut.  Neither  father  nor  mother  are  saints — 
pardi  / — why,  they  would  drive  such  as  I  am 
mad.  Madame  so  sharp  and  suspicious;  he  so 
full  of  his  fidgets  and  his  terrors  about  this  and 
that ;  and  yet  that  little  girl  manages  to  make 
them  eudurable,  sweetens  her  mother,  and 
heartens  up  her  father.  People  hated  to  go 
near  them  till  she  came ;  and  as  for  a  heart, 
why  there's  not  a  soul  in  trouble  but  goes  to 
Pauline  Rendu.  She's  not  squeauiish,  makes 
no  ])retence  of  not  knowing  that  there's  evil 
in  the  world.  I  shan't  tell  you  what  she  made 
me  do,  because  perhaps  you  might  think  she 
had  l)etter  have  kept  her  eyes  and  ears  shut. 
Pauline  bad-tempered !  ■  You  should  not  have 
her  if  j'ou  begged  on  your  knees  for  a  month." 

"  She  would  be  quite  of  your  way  of  tliink- 

.ing,  dear  madame;  but  hear  the  reasons,  at 

least   (^)ne  of  them,  for  the  accusation,"  and 

Vilpont   related  how  Pauline    had    deserted 

Madame  d'Allot. 

"  The  little  rogue  !  "  and  Madame  Jorey 
chuckled. 


A    LILIPtJTIAN    VENGEANCE.  85 

"  Fine  gontlomaii  and  fine  lady  left  in  the 
lurch.  And  so  tliat's  why  she  hid  behind  me, 
and  didn't  bid  me  invite  them  all  for  Sunday  ; 
but  I'll  have  her,  and  make  her  speak  out  for 
herself.  Pauline  bad-tempered  !  Why,  even 
when  she  was  teething,  she  was  as  good  as  a 
fetit  St.  Jean.  And  now,  my  clever  sir,  rea-ii 
me  some  of  that,"  and  she  held  out  his  own 
last  poem,  the  one  recited  by  Chernbino. 

"  ilow  did  you  come  by  it  \  "  he  asked. 

"  Read,  and  let  me  judge  of  what  gains  you 
your  daily  bread." 

He  hesitated. 

"  Pei'haps  you  fancy  I  am  not  able  to  under- 
stand it,"  said  the  old  lady  a  little  nettled. 
"  If  it's  good,  it  will  go  to  every  heart.  Didn't 
our  greatest  man  trust  to  an  old  servant- 
woman's  j  ndgment  ? " 

"  Suppose  I  dread  your  judgment." 

She  shrujT-o-ed  her  shoulders.  "  Are  you 
satisfied  yourself  \ " 

"No." 

"  Very  well.     ISTovv,  let  me  hear." 

Never  before  had  Vilpont  felt  so  timid. 
That  clear-headed,  honest-hearted  woman 
would  never  swallow  anv  sentimental  clothino- 
of  evil,  and  he  could  recollect  many  sentences 
which  were  S(^phistical  arguments  to  prove 
wronij  rijxht  and  riixht  wronj]:.  However,  he 
must  undergo  the  ordeal,  or  offend  his  new 
friend.  He  o-ained  courao;e  as  he  read.  Not 
one  musical  phrase,  not  one  true  sentiment, 
but  she  sliowed  she  thoroughly  appreciated. 


86  Jupiter's  daughters. 

She  even  shed  some  few  tears,  for  which  he 
almost  stopped  to  thank  her.  The  dnbious 
passages  she  groaned  h^ndly  over ;  but  when 
he  had  finislied,  she  called  ont,  "  Embrassez- 
moi,  mon  gar9on ! "  and  withont  waiting  to  be 
obeyed,  gave  him  a  sounding  kiss  on  each 
cheek. 

"  There's  good,  great  good  in  yon,"  she 
went  on.  "Ah!  if  you  had  only  a  dear  little 
wife,  and  two  brown  faced  boys  at  your 
knees." 

"  Amen  !  "  he  said. 


THE   IDEAL.  87 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE   IDEAL. 

On  Sunday,  the  Rendu  caleche  brought  the 
father,  mother,  Pauline,  and  little  Alix  d' Allot 
to  Ste.  Marie.  They  arrived  before  ten  o'clock, 
as  they  meant  all  to  go  and  attend  mass  at  the 
village  church. 

Pauline  was  not  so  rosy  as  usual ;  her  man- 
ner, too,  was  tinged  by  a  new  shyness  and 
reserve.  The  greater  delicacy  of  her  com- 
plexion made  her  more  than  ever  like  one  of 
Greuze's  delicious  portraits  of  girls.  As  she 
walked  with  her  tripping  step  by  her  mother's 
side,  her  dainty,  well-poised,  small  figure  show- 
ing to  admiration  in  the  blue  muslin  gown, 
stirred — only  just  stirred — by  the  gentle,  au- 
tumn breeze,  a  man  must  have  had  his  heart 
well  defended  to  have  kept  her  out  of  it. 

Their  road  lay  through  an  avenue  of  lime- 
trees,  glorious  in  foliage,  and  full  of  murmur- 
ings;  the  sun,  striking  through  every  opening 
of  branch  and  twig,  seemed  to  bar  the  path 
with  long  trembling  lines  of  light. 

Pauline,  who  had  begun  by  walking  decor- 
ously before  reaching  the  end  of  the  avenue, 
had  not  resisted  the  temptation  to  skip  over 
these   luminous   barriers.     Once,  after   doin^^^ 
this,  she  turne<l,  forced  by  some  mysterioul^B 
atti-action,  towards  Vilpont.     Perhaps  he  was 


88  Jupiter's  daughtees. 

not  himself  aware  of  the  tenderness  and  admi- 
ration of  his  eyes.  Pauline,  catching  the  look, 
flushed,  and  moved  hastily  on,  so  that  all  he 
could  see  of  lier  face  was  one  crimsoned  ear, 
like  some  small,  transparent  shell.  She  turned 
no  more ;  nor  could  he  do  more  than  occasion- 
ally get  a  glimjDse  of  her  in  the  church,  she 
having  placed  herself  between  her  mother  and 
honne  maman. 

He  waited  for  her  in  the  porch,  and  as  she 
came  out,  said — 

"Allow  me,  mademoiselle,  to  carry  your 
book." 

She  gave  it  him  at  once.  Curious  little 
ways  girls  have  of  showing  a  preference. 

He,  on  his  side,  resisted  a  strong  inclination 
to  put  the  book  to  his  lips.  He  remembered 
in  time  that  he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  country 
congregation,  to  whom  all  the  doings  of  their 
betters  were  matters  of  intensest  interest,  and 
only  buttoned  his  coat  over  it.  He  cherished 
it  there  almost  as  if  he  had  held  on  his  breast 
the  pretty  hand  of  its  owner.  As  for  Pauline, 
her  younsi;  heart  was  beating  with  a  feelino; 
that  paled  her  cheek  and  softened  lier  eyes. 
Was  it  wrong  to  have  given  the  book  to  M. 
Vilpont?  Ought  she  to  tell  her  mother  all 
about  it>? 

'JljL^  Pendus  knew  almost  every  one  at  Ste. 
^mSe,  and   the  salutations   to  be   exchanged 
'^Qve  endless.     There  were  the  maire  and  the 
choolmaster  to  be  spoken  to,  and  the  impor- 
tant dame  who  took  care  of  the  dear  old  Cure. 


THE    IDEAL.  89 

During  these  ceremoaics  Pauline  recovered  her 
composure.  At  last  M.  le  Cure  himself  ap- 
peared, and  joining  Madame  Jorey,  she  lead- 
ing, the}'  proceeded  to  the  Churcau.  Vilpont 
walked  with  M.  Rendu  ;  he  had  made  no  effort 
further  to  approach  Pauline.  All  at  once 
she  seemed  too  far  removed  from  him — too 
superior  to  allow  of  his  treating  her  as  he 
might  the  other  mesdames  and  mesdemoiselles 
of  his  acquaintance.  lie  walked  with  her 
father,  and  tried  to  listen  to  his  ])latitndes. 
Sucli  platitudes  !  it  was  a  marvel  how  small  a 
man's  mind  co\dd  Ije. 

Once,  when  Vilpont  awoke  out  of  a  reverie, 
he  found  M.  Pendu  in  the  middle  of  a  story 
as  to  how  lie  had  discovered  that  Madame  nne 
Telle  used  a  depilatory  powder  to  destroy  a 
nascent  moustache.  And  this  man  was  Pau- 
line's father.  His  former  opinion  that  she  was 
a  bird  of  paradise  had  revived. 

As  they  entered  the  hall,  Madame  Pendu's 
high  voice  was  heard  asking,  "  Pauline,  where 
is  thy  book?  I  do  not  see  it — thy  grand- 
mother's present." 

Vilpont,  extricating  it  dexterously  from  its 
place  of  concealment,  returned  it  to  the  young 
lady. 

"  iSTo  harm,  no  harm,"  said  Madame  Jorey — ■ 
"  a  piece  of  Paris  politeness."  And  Vilpont 
could  hear  her  whispering  to  Madame  Rendu, 
"A  good  fellow — very  good."  • 

The  Cure's  place  at  the  mid-day  Sunday'^ 
dinner  was  always  on  one  side  of  liis  hostess, 


90  jupitee's  daughteks. 

and  on  liis  other  side  was  now  Pauline,  whom 
he  had  christened  and  confirmed,  and  whom 
he  hoped  to  marry  happily. 

Yilpont  sat  by  Madame  Eendu,  and  the 
vicaire  (curate)  had  charge  of  little  Mademoi- 
selle d' Allot,  who  was  made  silent  by  amaze- 
ment at  the  company  she  found  herself  among. 
The  maire,  the  schoolmaster  also,  regular 
Sunday  guests  with  M.  Rendu,  filled  the  other 
seats. 

Pauline  recovered  her  gayety  under  the  wing 
of  M.  le  Cure.  She  played  liim  all  sorts  of 
girlish  tricks:  stole  liis  lu'ead,  kidnapped  his 
napkin,  pulled  crackers  with  him,  inducing  him 
to  read  mottoes  out  of  keeping  with  his  calling. 

"  Do  you  mean  always  to  be  a  child,  Pau- 
line ? "  asked  Madame  Rendu  with  more  gen- 
tleness in  her  tone  than  was  usual. 

"  I  shall  forgive  her  everything  if  she  speaks 
thus  to  her  child,"  thought  Vilpont,  saying 
aloud,  "Who  could  wish  for  any  change  in 
her?" 

"  As  for  that,"  said  the  lady  with  her  wonted 
sharpness,  "  she  is  neither  better  nor  worse  than 
others  ;  "  adding,  "  We  ought  to  be  very  much 
flattered  by  a  gentleman  so  famous  as  I  hear 
you  are,  lingering  here.  You  must  not,  how- 
ever, be  offendedif  we  wonder  why  you  do  so." 

To  this  plain  speaking,  on  which  Madame 
Rendu  prided  herself,  he  replied — 

"  No  doubt,  in  your  varied  reading,  madame, 
^^ou  have  met  with  a  description  of  a  certain 
^plant  which  deprives  all  those  who  eat  of  it  of 


THE    IDEAL.  91 

any  desire  for  change.  Place  but  a  leaf  be- 
tween your  teeth,  you  will  forget  everything 
you  once  cared  for — you  will  stay  where  you 
are,  leading  a  sort  of  dormouse-life,  unless 
carried  away  by  main  force.  That  is  my 
present  condition." 

The  Cure,  who  had  overheard  this  sally, 
said — 

"  The  wise  man  refused  to  eat  of  that  plant. 
Monsieur  Yilpont." 

"  You  see,  raadame,  that  M.  le  Cure  guar- 
antees the  truth  of  my  story." 

"  I  don't  care  for  men's  stories ;  they  are 
seldom  fit  for  women's  ears,"  snapped  out 
Madame  Rendu. 

"  Not  even  such  a  girl  as  Pauline  could  make 
amends  for  such  a  mother,"  thought  Yilpont, 
and  as  soon  as  they  rose  from  table  went  away 
for  a  long,  solitary  walk,  his  usual  remedy  for 
ruffled  temper. 

His  thoughts,  however,  were  full  of  Pauline ; 
all  day  De  Musset's  description  of  an  English- 
woman had  been  runniuE^  in  his  head — 

"  Elle  etait  simple  et  bonne, 
Ne  sachant  pas  le  mal,  elle  faisait  le  bien. 
Des  richesses  du  coeur  elle  me  fit  I'aumone  ; 
Sans  oser  y  penser,  je  donnai  le  mien. 
EUe  emporta  ma  vie,  et  n'en  sut  jamais  rien." 

lie  meant  now  more  than  ever  that  she 
should  know  notliing  of  the  tenderness  she  had 
awakened  in  his  heart.  He  classed  her  among 
those  unknown  oppressed  of  the  earth  whoso 
delicate  natures  are  doomed  to  suffer  from  the 


92  Jupiter's  daughters. 

ignorance,  insipidity,  narrow-mindedness  that 
surround  them.  She  would  be  tlie  victim  of 
the  passionate  personality,  the  prejudices  incar- 
nate in  her  mother,  and  of  the  weakness  of  her 
father ;  he  foresaw  all  the  deceptions  and  dis- 
appointments life  had  in  store  for  her.  Run- 
ning on,  side  by  side  with  these  thoughts  of 
lier,  was  a  retrospection  of  his  own  career,  of 
the  many  errors  committed,  of  the  wrong  bias 
of  his  life — all  sources  of  discouragement  and 
irritation  concealed  under  an  appearance  of 
nonchalant  cheerfulness.  Yes,  the  clearer  his 
perception  of  his  blunders  and  weaknesses,  the 
closer  did  he  conceal  his  regrets.  Though  his 
love  of  virtue  prevented  self-forgiveness,  it  was 
not  strou":  enou2;h  to  make  him  alter. his  course 
— no,  he  dared  not  risk  taking  on  himself  the 
responsibilities  of  a  family. 

It  was  after  having  so  decided  that  he  re- 
turned to-  Chateau  Ste.  Marie.  In  the  mean- 
time, Pauline  and  little  Alix  d' Allot  had  been 
to  vespers,  remaining  during  the  children's 
catechism,  and  then  Madame  Rendu  ordered 
the  carriage,  resolutely  refusing  to  remain  to 
supper.  She  had  no  desire  to  meet  Vilpont 
again.  She  had  always  disliked  him — now 
she  liad  begun  to  fear  him. 

During  the  drive  home  she  delivered  an 
oration  against  Paris  and  Parisians.  Little 
Mademoiselle  d'Allot,  whom  the  vexed  woman 
had  forgotten,  fired  up  at  this  abuse  of  her 
native  city,  and  said  bravely,  "  All  Provincials 
hate  the  capital — I'm  sure  we  don't  care." 


THE    IDEAL.  -     93 

Had  jMaclainc  Rendu  been  as  crafty  as  she 
was  lionest,  she  would  have  refrained  from 
that  diatribe — slie  would  have  taken  into  ac- 
count that  spirit  of  contradiction  which  exists 
in  the  best  of  human  beings,  and  the  sympatliy 
excited  in  generous  disj)ositions  by  anything 
bordering  on  injustice.  Too  much  praise 
often  renders  hearers  antagonistic;  too  much 
abuse  as  often  turns  them  into  partisans.  In 
this  instance  Pauline's  heart  burned  within 
her.  For  the  first  time  in  lier  life  she  thought 
her  mother  wrong.  And  thus  it  came  to  pass 
that  mother's  apprehensions  and  maiden's 
awakening  preference  jarred  painfully.  The 
hero  had  appeared,  and  had  cast  his  glamour 
over  the  inexperienced  heroine. 

Pauline  did  not  frolic  as  usual  round  her 
father  when  she  bade  him  good-night,  and 
tendered  her  brow  t(j  her  mother  in  silence. 
As  soon  as  she  was  in  her  own  room,  she  let 
fall  her  hair — such  wonderful  hair ! — as  though 
it  were  an  offence  to  her;  but  this  vexed  mood 
did  not  last  long.  Pauline's  disposition  was 
too  sweet  for  that,  and  her  good  angel  was 
about  to  whisper  to  her. 

In  a  recess  was  a  small  oratory — one  of  the 
delights  of  Pauline's  life.  Her  father,  whose 
single  sentiment  was  admiration  of  his  daugh- 
ter, liad  procured  for  her  a  Madonna,  one  of 
Clcsinger's  marble  wonders — a  real  gem  of  art 
— and  winter  and  summer  Pauline  found  means 
to  surround  this  loved  imaixe  with  fresh  flow- 
ers.     As  she  knelt  down  to  say  her  evenmg 


9-1    .  Jupiter's  daughters. 

prayers,  tears,  repentant  tears,  rolled  over  her 
cheeks.  Ko  words  could  have  been  so  eloquent 
as  the  silent,  unspoken  petition  for  gi-ace  to 
over.come  self-will,  for  help  to  be  obedient,  for 
pafdon  for  the  rebellious  ang-er  she  had  felt. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  full  of  heroic  reso- 
Intion,  the  first-fruit  of  which  was,  that  she 
put  her  ivory-bound  mass-book  into  a  drawer 
with  a  studiously  careless  touch. 


NOT   DOING   AS   OTEJERS   DO.  95 


CIIAPTEE  Xi: 


THE  CONSEQUENCES  OF  NOT  DOING  AS  OTHERS  DO. 

Pauline  was  as  merry  as  a  cricket  on  the 
Monday.  In  the  early  morning  she  practised 
her  scale  ;  afterwards  attended  madanie  on  her 
round  to  the  kitchen,  putting  her  little  nose 
into  every  culinary  preparation,  as  though  she 
cai-ed  innnensely  about  it.  That  duty  per- 
formed, she  dressed  madame's  hair,  and  then 
her  own,  making  her  head  a  marvel  of  intri- 
cacy and  neatness. 

Madanie  Rendu  watched  her  closely  through 
the  day,  and  came  at  last  to  tlie  conclusion  that 
she  had  frightened  herself  about  nothing,  and 
that  the  child  was  fancy  fi-ee.  It  had  been 
like  a  stab  to  her  heart  even  to  surmise  that  a 
daughter  of  hers,  educated  on  the  system  ap- 
proved by  generation  after  generation,  should 
lapse  into  the  novelty  of  preierring  one  man  to 
another,  until  authorized  by  her  parents  to  do 
so.  Relieved  from  the  awful  dread  of  town- 
talk — that  irreparable  misfortune  when  a 
young  girl  is  the  cause  of  it — Madame  Rendu 
was  able  to  receive  all  her  friends  with  her 
usual  indifference,  bordering  on  hostility.  She 
could  even  j(jiu  in  the  laugh  at  Madame 
Jorey's  tete-d-tete  with  such  a  man  as  Yilpont, 
though  she  refused  to  go  so  far  as  Gonde,  who 


96  jupitek's  daugiiteks. 

had  set  about  the  report  that  the  young  man 
was  trying  to  cajole  the  old  lady  into  matri- 
mony. It  was  Goude  who  first  called  him 
imdame's  bijou. 

^^or  the  present,  at  least,  this  stupid  gossip 
did  not  reach  Ste.  Marie.  Pauline  heard 
everything  tliat  was  said  or  supposed  on  the 
subject,  and  kept  a  proper  maidenly  silence, 
It  is  astonishinf?  how  well  gu-ls  cmi  hide  their 
feelhigs.  Her  one  dread  was  lest  it  should  be 
suspected  how  these  discussions  pained  her. 
Slie  had  been  ignorant  of  even  wliat  dislike 
was;  now  she  positively  hated  all  these  busy- 
bodies  and  slanderers. 

How  dared  they  think  and  speak  disrespect- 
fully of  lier  godmother,  so  venerable  and  good 
a  woman  !  This  dear  little  dove  often  shook 
with  anger,  but  with  some  of  the  wisdom  of 
the  serpent,  held  her  peace.  It  is  to  be  lii^ped 
that  when  she  went  to  confession,  she  accused 
herself  honestly  of  the  anger  and  hatred  swell- 
ing her  breast. 

It  was  a  time-honored  custom  that  the  Ren- 
dus  should  go  to  Ste.  Marie  for  the  first  day  of 
the  vintage.  Pauline  liad  been  taken  there  a 
baby  in  arms — had  gatliered  grapes  there  as 
child  and  school-girl.  The  least  alteration  in 
a  custom  so  Aveirknown,  and  Madame  Rendu 
knew  what  would  be  the  consequence.  There 
would  be  whispers,  and  conjectures  breeding 
lies.  One  day,  only  one  day  more,  could  not 
signify  much,  even  though  Vilpont  were  Satan 
ill  person;  and  thin  she  would  take  to  her  bed 


NOT   DOING    AS   OTHERS   DO.  97 

rather  than  \)\\t  her  foot  into  Ste.  Marie  again 
until  it  was  clear  of  so  embarrassing  an  inmate. 
Tlic  same  instinct  which  makes  the  barn-door 
fowl  stretch  her  wings  over  her  brood  ^\^^ 
the  hawk  is  yet  bnt  a  distant  black  speck  m 
the  skv,  was  asritatino;  Madame  Rendu's  ma- 
ternal  breast. 

Panline  said  man}'  more  prayers  than  usual, 
and  tried  hard  not  to  be  happier  at  the  thought 
of  this  first  day  of  the  vintage  than  she  had 
ever  been  before.  She  imposed  secret  pen- 
ances on  herself,  said  a  hundred  Aves  and 
Paters  a  day,  and  fasted  so  bravely  that  her 
mother  had  to  scold  her  into  taking  something 
more  than  bread  and  bouillon.  The  happiness, 
however,  refused  to  be  starved,  and  was  in  full 
strength  when  the  day  arrived. 

Was  all  this  merry  jingle  of  joy-bells  in  her 
heart  because  she  should  see  one  tliin,  dark 
face  once  more  ?  Just  so.  She  had  not  yet 
passed  beyond  that  stage  when  the  mere  pres- 
ence of  one  particular  person  is  happiness. 
Her  conscience  pricked  her  for  this  gladness ; 
for  she  knew  full  well  her  mothers  hostile 
feelings,  and  it  was  conscience  made  this  dear 
heart  put  on  her  least  fresh  and  becoming 
dress. 

"  You  cannot  go  that  figure  ! "  exclaimed 
Madame  Eendu.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of 
your  putting  on  that  shabby  frock  ?  " 

"I  thouglit  you  would"^  like  it  best,"  said 
Pauline  coloring,  and  looking  down. 

"  Of  a  piece  with  your  fasting,"  said  the 


98  JUPITEll's   DAUGHTERS. 

mother  severely,     "Yon  have  been  doing  all 
yon  can  to  worry  me  this  week  |)ast." 

^O  mamma !  if  yon  only  knew,  it  was  for 
■^l:)est — indeed  it  was  !  " 

"  Yon  slionld  let  yonr  mother  gnide  yon, 
and  not  be  trying  to  gnide  yourself.  Go  now 
and  pnt  on  yonr  new  barege,  and  be  quick." 

Mademoiselle  was  well  pleased  when  she 
saw  herself  in  her  pretty  fresh  costume  ;  she 
looked,  for  all  the  world,  like  a  shepherdess 
by  Boucher,  and  it  is  certain  she  did  not  give 
.one  regret  to  her  lost  good  intention. 

"No  wandering  from  the  others,"  was 
Madame  Rendn's  warning  as  they  stopped  at 
the  gates  of  the  Chateau. 

"  How  late  yon  are !  "  shouted  Madame 
Jorey  from  a  back  door ;  "  they  are  all  gone 
this  honr  past.  Run,  Pauline,  you'll  Und  them 
in  Yigne  des  Trois  Freres.  Stop,  give  me  a 
kiss  first,"  and  the  old  lady  gave  her  one  of 
those  hugs  that  deep-chested  old  ladies  alone 
can  give — a  kiss  like  the  snap  of  a  pistol,  the 
kiss  of  a  practical  godmother,  who  did  not 
understand  silent  pressure  of  lips. 

"  Send  one  of  the  girls  with  her,"  said  Ma- 
dame Rendu ;  "  she  cannot  go  alone."  A 
Manon  or  Manette  was  caught,  and  with  this 
chaperone  required  by  French  custom  Pauline 
set  off,  soberly  as  long  as  she  was  in  sight  of 
the  elders,  bnt  like  an  arrow  from  the  bow 
when  they  had  turned  the  corner.  The  vineyard 
was  noisy  with  shonts  and  song  and  laughter, 


NOT    DOING    AS    OTHERS   DO.  99 

the  valley  with  the  sonnd  of  hammers  on  the 
empty  sides  of  barrels. 

A  dozen  young  ladies  of  the  higher  and 
lower  and  lowest  hourgeoisie  were'  alr^J|^ 
picking,  eating,  talking,  singing.  Some  of  the 
papas  were  there  as  guards,  and  some  worthy 
niatrons  of  no  hourgeoisie  at  all ;  some  of  tb'e 
girls'  brothers,  boys  from  twelve  to  fifteen, 
were  of  the  party,  and  M.  Vilpont,  apparently 
one  of  the  most  industrious  gatherers. 

The  moment  Pauline  caught  sight  of  him 
she  turned  in  the  opposite  direction.  She 
joined  a  group  of  Ste.  Marie  girls,  and  talked 
and  joked  and  lauglied  as  much  as  any  of  the 
most  thoughtless.  This  answered  very  well  for 
a  time,  but  presently  she  often  forgot  to  reply 
or  to  laugh.  Her  prayers  had  been  heard,  but 
her  joyful  feelings  were  fast  fading  away.  A 
tender  word  spoken  at  that  instant  would  have 
made  her  cry  fit  to  break  her  heart,  and  she 
could  not  have  explained  to  herself  why.  She 
gre\v  tired  of  girls  and  grapes,  and  wandered 
away  ;   she  wanted  to  be  alone. 

Yilpont,  on  his  side,  was  conscientiously  act- 
ing up  to  his  last  resolve— for  Pauline's\lear 
sake  he  would  avoid  Pauline. 

And  so  Pauline  went  further  and  further 
from  the  grape-gatherers,  her  small  figure  easily 
lost  to  sight  among  the  thick  bushes.  She  had 
no  plan,  no  object  in  view,  save  like  all  hurt 
creatures  to  get  away  and  hide. 

St.  Gloi  lies  in  a  punch-bowl  shaped  valley, 
the  low  hills  round  it  rising  gradually  until,  as 


100  Jupiter's  daughters. 

they  reach  Ste.  Marie,  they  attain  a  considera- 
ble height.  These  hills,  as  has  been  before  de- 
scribed, are  cut  by  deep  ravines  or  gorges,  the 
b^^  of  mountain-streams,  feeders  of  the  lake. 
Mere  rivulets  in  fine  weather,  during  the 
troriihes  so  frequent  in  the  district  these  streams 
become  swift  torrents,  dangerous  to  ci-oss. 
These  tromhes  come  on  with  great  suddenness 
and  with  a  fuiy  beyond  imagination.  First  a 
far-spreading  cloud  darkens  the  sky,  and  a  mo- 
ment after  hill  and  plain  are  hidden  by  thick, 
slanting  rain,  a  wall  of  water  that  seems  to 
reach  from  earth  to  heaven,  hiding  both. 

The  morning  had  been  snltrv,  without  sun 
and  breezeless.  As  the  day  advanced,  all  blue 
vanished  from  the  sky.  About  noon  the  warn- 
ing darkness  showed  itself ;  a  moment  later 
there  was  a  loud  cry — "  The  tromhe !  the 
tromhe  is  coming !  "  and  every  one  set  off  full 
speed  down  patlis  along  which  they  would  in 
cool  l>lood  have  picked  their  way  cautiously. 
Then  the  heavens  opened,  and  the  rain  fell; 
yet  not  like  rain — it  hit  with  the  force  of  peb- 
bles, accompanied  by  a  muffled  roar  more  ter- 
rifying than  the  loudest  claps  of  thunder.  It 
terrified  the  more,  that  no  one  knew  its  cause. 
Echalas  mingled  with  vine-branches  whirled 
through  the  air,  while  the  very  ground  seemed 
slipping  from  beneath  the  feet.  The  road  at 
the  bottom  of  the  hill  had  now  become  a  rush- 
ing river,  across  which  the  men  carried  the 
young  girls,  getting  the  women  over  by  placing 
one  between  two  men.     The  greater  number 


NOT   DOING    AS    OTHERS    DO.  101 

rushed  into  the  large  outhonses  of  the  Chateau, 
while  those  who  dared  crowded  into  kitchen 
and  park)r.  At  first  the  confusion  and  hubbub 
were  so  great  that  there  was  no  knowing  who 
was  or  was  not  there.  Madame  Rendu's  voice 
at  last  made  itself  heard — 

"Pauline,  where  are  you?"  No  re]%. 
"  Good  God  !  "  she  screamed,  "  where's  Pau- 
line ? " 

A  great  silence  fell  on  all  present.  Yilpont 
made  one  spring  out  of  the  room,  the  mother's 
screams  rending  his  ears.  He  loiew  that  other 
men  were  on  his  steps,  but  he  asked  neither 
counsel  nor  companionship.  lie  had  seen, 
without  seeming  to  do  so,  the  girl  leave  her 
companions,  and  he  had  guessed  something  of 
wliy  she  did  so ;  and  now  remorse  filled  his 
heart,  as  though  he  was  to  blame  for  whatever 
might  happen  to  her.  Buffeting  against  the 
6t.rrm,  repeatedly  beaten  back  or  thrown 
down,  he  thought  with  horror  of  how  impossi- 
ble for  that  slight  child  to  withstand  what  ren- 
dered him,  a  man  in  his  full  vigor,  sometimes 
helpless.  Where  was  he  to  seek  her  ?  lie  had 
no  clue  save  that  she  had  gone  to  the  left  of 
where  they  had  been  gathering  grapes.  But 
where  was  that  vineyard  ?  He  could  scarcely 
see  two  feet  before  him  for  the  blinding  rain. 
He  staggered  up  the  side  of  the  hill  nearest 
the  house  to  seek  for  steps  or  pathway,  often 
obliged  to  lie  down  to  escape  some  whirling 
echalafi.  The  wind  was  still  tearing  off  leaves, 
scattering  grapes ;   but  the  actual  vine  itself 


102  jupitee's  daughters. 

held  its  own  where  there  was  no  landslip.  He 
shonted  out  from  time  to  time  Pauline's  name. 
He  knew  it  was  a  vain  effort  against  the  roar 
of  wind  and  the  swish  of  rain,  but  he  could  not 
resist  doing  so. 

Luckily,  no  storm  but  has  its  period  of  ex- 
haustion, and  presently  there  was  a  lull ;  the 
rain  was  less  heavj^,  less  serried.  He  was  able 
to  see  the  chimneys  of  the  Chateau.  This 
cheered  him,  in  spite  of  its  showing  how  little 
way  he  had  made,  for  it  made  him  sure  he  had 
not  missed  the  course  ho  wished  to  take. 

Ilapj)y  to  think  that  others  were  seeking  in 
other  directions,  in  case  he  should  be  on  the 
wrong  tack,  he  toiled  on  until  he  came  to  the 
edge  of  the  very  gorge  where,  the  evening  be- 
fore, he  had  sat  and  pondered  as  to  liis  own 
life.  Instead  of  the  gurgling  of  the  rivulet, 
that  had  made  its  quiet  song  the  accompani- 
ment of  his  meditati(m,  he  now  heard  the 
rush  of  a  torrent.  If  she  had  really  come 
this  way,  she  might  have  taken  shelter  among 
the  brushwood,  or  she  might  have  crossed  to 
the  other  side  before  the  storm  l)urst,  and  have 
been  unable  to  return.  lie  made  a  trumpet 
of  his  hands,  and  shouted  "  Pauline  !  "  Surely 
there  was  a  re])ly — a  faint  yet  shrill  sound. 
Griping  his  mother  earth  with  feet  and  hands, 
lie  let  himself  down  the  bank.  No  easy  task, 
for  a  false  step  might  precipitate  him  into  the 
angiy  water  below. 

Once  down,  he  again  shouted  "Pauline!" 
This  time  he  was  clearly  answered,  but  not 


NOT   DOING    AS    OTHERS    DO.  103 

for  the  life  of  him  could  he  tell  from  whence. 
Holding  by  the  scrubby  wood,  he  went  a  few 
yards  up,  then  a  few  yards  the  other  way, 
then  he  sprang  up  as  if  a  shot  had  been  fired 
at  his  ear  when  a  well-known  voice  said  : 

"  I  am  here,  monsieur." 

"  Where  ? "  he  asked,  staring  about,  and 
then  a  little  figure  came  almost  on  its  knees 
from  under  a  bush. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  she  nestled 
her  head  on  his  bosom  softly,  crying,  and  he 
keeping  her  company. 

It  would  have  made  all  the  hair  of  all  the 
heads  in  St.  Gloi  bristle  like  porcupine-quills 
had  they  witnessed  the  scene.  Propriety  and 
prudence  were  just  then  absent.  Of  course 
this  did  not  last  long  ;  violent  emotions  have 
their  lulls  as  well  as  other  storms. 

Pauline  once  more  stood  on  her  feet,  but 
shivering,  and  holding  fast  Vilpont's  arm. 

"  I  have  been  so  frightened,"  she  said, 
apologetically. 

"  Not  so  frightened  as  I  have  been,"  he 
replied ;  "  but  that's  over  for  us.  We  must 
make  haste  back,  for  your  father  and  mother's 
sake." 

"  Oh  yes,  monsieur.  Let  us  go  as  fast  as 
possible." 

"  Do  you  know  any  way  except  through  the 
vines,  mademoiselle  ?  " 

Propriety  had  returned. 

"  Tliere  are  some  steps  leading  to  the  road, 
close  to  the  top  of  this  bank,"  she  replied. 


104  jupitee's  daughters. 

"  Yerj  good  ;  but  first  we  must  get  up  ttie 
bank,  and  I  am  afraid  you  must  hold  on  by 
the  tails  of  my  coat.  I  see  no  other  way  by 
which  I  can  help  you,  for  I  must  myself  grap- 
ple the  bushes  with  both  hands.  There,  do  not 
let  go." 

She  obeyed  him  quietly,  and  they  got  to  the 
top  without  an  accident. 

"  Now  you  must  be  the  guide.  Thank  God, 
it  only  rains."  But  how  it  did  rain.  There 
was  no  possibility  of  walking  arm  in  arm; 
they  had  to  go  single  file. 

Suddenly  they  heard  the  church-bells  begin 
to  ring. 

"  That  must  be  for  us,"  said  Pauline,  and 
Yilpont  heard  lier  whispering  a  prayer. 

Straiglit  forward  they  went ;  but  when  they 
reached  where  the  steps  ought  to  have  been, 
they  found  instead  a  high  barrier  of  earth. 
There  had  been  a  landslip  from  above. 

"  It  was  so  much  the  shortest  way,"  sighed 
Pauline. 

"  There's  a  monster  of  a  cloud  rising,  made- 
moiselle," said  Yilpont,  "  "We  must  get  over, 
and  lose  no  time,  either." 

"  Very  well,  monsieur." 

He  (nawled  over  one  heap  of  stones  and 
then  another,  pulling  her  after  him.  There 
was  not  much  light,  but  sufiicient  for  him  to 
perceive  that  she  had  nothing  but  stockings  ou 
her  feet. 

"Great  Heaven  !  "  he  said,  "  where  have  you 
lost  your  boots  ?  " 


NOT   DOING    AS    OTHERS   DO.  105 

"  I  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  gully  when 
the  storm  began,  and  I  took  them  off  to  cross 
over;  and  the  water  rushed  so,  I  let  them 
di'op."  Here  her  bravery  broke  down,  and 
tears  ran  over  her  face — tears  of  pain ;  her 
feet  were  cut  and  bruised,  and  but  for  the 
mud,  he  would  have  seen  they  were  bleeding. 

As  soon  as  tliey  liad  (crossed  over  the  barrier, 
he  said,  "  Yon  must  allow  me  to  carrv  vou  ; 
luckily  you  are  just  the  weight  I  am  up  to." 

"I  can  walk,  indeed  I  can.  Oh,  pray  let 
rae!  "  as  he  put  his  arm  round  her.  "  Mamma 
would  never  forgive  me.  Oh,  pray,  pray !  I 
don't  mind  the  pain." 

There  was  such  a  beseeching  terror  in  her 
voice  and  face  that  he  gave  up  the  point. 
"  Take  my  arm,  at  least,"  and  she  felt  him 
wince  every  time  she  did  so.  When  once  she 
could  not  repress  a  faint  cry,  he  said,  "  Do  let 
me."  But  she  shook  her  head,  saying,  "  It's 
for  mamma's  sake  I  refuse." 

"  Sit  down  then,  and  let  me  wrap  my  hand- 
kerchief round  your  feet." 

She  was  so  weary  and  sore  that  she  let  him 
have  liis  way.  He  tore  his  cravat  and  hand- 
kerchief into  bands,  and  kneeling  before  her  ; 
bound  up  the  poor  torn  feet.  She  saw  how 
his  face  was  working,  and  laying  her  hand 
softly  on  his  shoulder,  she  said  : 

"  Do  not  be  so  sorry  for  me  ;  it  seems  worse 
than  it  is.  And  indeed  I  would  let  you  carry 
me,  but  it  would  vex  mamma.     People  are  so 


severe." 


5* 


106  Jupiter's  daughters. 

"  Le  diable  les  emporte,"  he  said  savagely, 
because  lie  was  so  much  grieved. 

At  last  they  were  in  the  road ;  and  just  as 
always  liappeus  in  similar  cases,  no  sooner  was 
there  no  need  of  help,  plenty  was  at  hand.  ^ 

First  came  the  Cure.  As  soon  as  she  saw 
him,  Pauliue  let  go  Vilpont's  arm,  and  clung 
to  that  of  her  old  friend. 

"  Where's  papa  ?  "  were  her  first  words. 

"  On  the  opposite  side,  my  poor  little  one ; 
but  we  shall  soon  have  him  back." 

"  Monsieur  found  me,"  said  Pauline. 

"Tres-bien,  tres-bien,"  was  M,  le  Cure's 
reply ;  but  he  would  rather  she  had  been 
rescued  by  one  of  the  vignerons  now  joining 
them. 

They  raised  a  loud  shout  to  give  notice  that 
the  missing  lamb  was  found,  and  then  set  off 
in  cliase  or  M.  Rendu  and  those  with  him. 

At  first  Madame  Rendu  behaved  as  mothers 
usually  do  when  the}'  receive  back  a  child  who 
has  been  in  peril — she  kissed  and  hugged  her, 
and  cried  and  scolded.  But  when  she  heard 
who  had  rescued  Pauline,  her  annoyance  ban- 
ished all  other  feeling. 

"That  man  is  always  in  the  way,"  she  said. 

Yilpont  luckily  was  not  present,  and  Pauline 
made  no  defence  ;  she  was  thinking  how  best 
to  hide  the  way  her  feet  had  been  bandaged. 
She  knew  too  well  her  country's  rigorous 
notions  about  young  ladies,  not  to  dread  her 
mother's  discovering  what  she  had  allowed 
Yilpont  to  do.     She  was  indeed  so  anxious  to 


NOT   DOING   AS   OTIIEKS    DO.  107 

escape  any  questionings,  that  she  submitted  in 
silence  to  all  Madame  Rendu's  commands. 

"  You  must  go  to  bed,  child,  as  soon  as  your 
feet  have  been  bathed — that's  the  only  fit  place 
for  you.  Why  couldn't  you  stay  \vitli  the 
rest'?  Don't  you  see,  Pauline,  that  it  is  not 
doing  as  others  do  that  gets  you  into  trouble." 


108  JTPITEr's   DArGHTEES. 


CHAPTER  XIL 


MADAME    EEXDU   TO    THE   EESCTE. 

Having  safely  ensconced  Pauline  in  a  warm 
bed,  Madame  Pendu  went  down  to  the  salon 
with  some  composure.  She  had  quite  decided 
on  her  course  of  conduct  with  reo-ard  to  Vil- 
pont. 

Here  it  mav  be  as  well  to  remark  that  dif- 
ferent countries  have  different  habits  and  dif- 
ferent notions  on  almost  all  points.  The  prov- 
erb says,  ••'  Do  at  Pome  as  the  Pomans  do," 
which  plainly  means  that  the  Pomans  have 
peculiar  ways  of  their  own  ;  so  have  the  Turks, 
so  have  the  English,  and  so  have  the  French. 
Xow,  one  well-established  custom  amonaj  our 
nearest  neighbors  is  a  strictness  with  regard  to 
girls  unknown  in  this  country.  There  are 
small  opportunities  allowed  for  flirtation  ;  and 
such  an  adventure  as  Pauline's  might  be  a  se- 
rious disadvantage  to  her,  of  which  her  mother 
was  perfectly  aware.  Englishwomen  are 
shocked,  and  no  wonder,  at  what  is  implied  by 
such  a  surveillance,  and  by  anxiety  like  that 
of  Madame  Pendu  ;  but  she,  on  her  side,  would 
have  been  horrified  by  the  independent  ways 
on  this  side  of  the  Channel.  The  difference 
lies  in  a  nutshell :  an  English  girl  is  taught 
that  she  can  and  ought  to  take  care  of  herself, 


MADA^IE    RENDU    TO    THE    RESCUE.  109 

and  a  French  one  that  she  is  to  be  taken  care 
of.  Madame  Rendu  is  neither  to  be  wondered 
at  nor  blamed  for  what  she  felt,  or  for  what  she 
said  to  Vilpont. 

"  Monsieur,  if  you  are  a  man  of  honor,  you 
will  allow  no  one  to  know  of  j-our  being  the 
one  who  found  mv  child.  It  would  have  been 
better  had  you  refrained  from  interference  in 
what  did  not  concern  you." 

Yilpont  understood  and  pardoned  her  bitter- 
ness, lie  replied,  "  From  me,  madame,  you 
have  nothino;  to  fear  ;  but  the  fact  is  already 
known  to  half  a  dozen  people  who  met  us." 

She  turned  away,  her  heart  burning  with  re- 
sentment acrainst  this  man.  It  was  luckv  for 
her  reason  that  she  never  would  know  certain 
facts  attending  the  rescue. 

Once  satistied  that  Pauline  was  found,  and 
safe  in  her  mother's  care,  Madame  Jorey  was 
too  much  taken  up  with  providing  for  the 
wants  of  all  the  p»eople  crowded  into  her 
kitchen  to  have  leisure  for  curiosity.  But  she 
found  a  moment  luckilv  to  go  and  see  her  o-od- 
daughter  before  joining  her  visitors  in  the 
salon. 

"You  little  coward  !  what  are  you  crving 
about  now  ? "  she  began,  as  the  little  white, 
tearful  face  was  turned  up  to  her  gaze. 

'"'  Chere  marraine,  mamma  is  so  vexed  about 
my  being  lost,  and — that — M.  Vilpont  was  the 
one  to  find  me.  I  knew  she  would  be  ;  but  it 
was  not  my  fault,  and  it  was  very  good  of  him 
to   take  so  much  trouble  about  me.      Only, 


110  Jupiter's  daughters. 

mamma  is  angry  ;  and  oh  !  please  don't  talk 
about  it  downstairs." 

Madame  Jorey  did  not  look  much  pleased 
either. 

"  What  made  you  run  away  from  the 
others  ? "  she  asked. 

A  silence. 

"I  hope  you  are  not  crying  about  anything 
save  Tour  mother's  ano-er.  There  :  don't  look 
so  frightened.  I  am  not  going  to  ask  you  any 
more  questions.  What's  done  is  done.  It's  a 
lesson,  god-daughter." 

Madame  Jorey,  thus  forewarned,  showed 
such  an  entire  want  of  curiosity  as  was  thor- 
onghly  unnatural.  But  all  those  in  the  salon 
were  equally  willing  with  herself  to  let  the 
matter  pass  in  silence.  JjO?i}ie77iaman  was  he- 
sides,  preoccupied  by  houseliold  cares.  Rooms 
must  be  prepared  for  M.  and  Mme.  Rendu,  the 
weather  being  again  so  wild  that  their  return 
to  St.  Gloi  was  impossible,  even  had  it  been 
wise  to  remove  Pauline. 

During  one  of  his  hostess's  flights  upstairs, 
Yilpont  stopped  her,  saying  that  he  should  be 
glad  of  half  an  hour's  conversation  with  her. 

"  Come  away  at  once,"  she  said.  "  To  tell 
the  truth,  Madame  Rendu  is  not  the  pleasantest 
of  company  just  now.  Let  me  see,  where  can 
I  take  you  so  as  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  all 
these  people  ?  The  qfice  (the  store-room)  will 
be  the  safest." 

There,  amid  the  combined  odors  of  candles, 
sugar,    oil,    coffee,   preserves,    onions,  jellies, 


MADAME   RENDU    TO    THE    RESCUE.  Ill 

hams,  soap,  lemons,  and  spices,  did  Vilpont 
contide  to  her  something  that  made  the  good 
lady  both  wink  and  stare.  She  accompanied 
his  narration  by  many  of  those  interjectional 
exclamations  we  shonld  call  swearing  in  this 
country.     When  he  ended,  she  said — 

"  This  is  not  one  of  your  romances  that  you 
have  been  telling  me  ?  " 

"All  true  as  the  most  commonplace  reality." 

"  And  you  are  in  earnest  ?  " 

"  Perfectly." 

"  Well — well — well !  Sleep  on  it,  and  if  you 
remain  in  the  same  mind  after  twenty-four 
hours,  tell  me  so,  and  I  will  see  what  I  can  do. 
I  cannot  take  it  all  in  so  quickly.  I  must  turn 
it  over  in  my  own  mind.  I  am  well-nigh 
crazed  with  that  wind — more  than  half  the 
wine-crop  lost." 

The  following  morning  was  quiet  and  gray, 
an  air  of  languor  pervaded  people  and  country 
— a  sort  of  physical  weariness.  Madame  Jorey 
was,  however,  an  exception.  As  brisk  as 
usual,  she  was  sallying  forth  to  see  the  damage 
done  to  her  vines  when  she  met  Vilpont. 

"  i^ot  yet,"  she  said.  "  Your  business  can 
wait,  mine  cannot.  I  said  twent^^-four  hours, 
and  that  will  briuo;  us  to  seven  in  the  even- 


mg." 


Some  of  the  people  loitering  about  re- 
marked that  the  madame  and  her  guest  spoke 
in  whispers  and  with  gravity. 

"  A  marriage,"  said  the  women. 

"  At  her  age  ? "  laughed  the  men. 


112  Jupiter's  daughters. 

"  There  are  younger  in  the  house,"  was  the 
rejoinder  of  a  sharjj-sighted  girl, 

None  of  iis  can  walk  invisible,  or  find  a 
covering  thick  enough  under  which  to  hide  our 
secrets. 

As  they  were  returning  (for  Vilpont  had 
accompanied  Madame  Jorey  on  her  tour  of  in- 
spection), they  met  the  Eendus'  caleche,  in 
which  were  father,  mother,  and  Pauline. 

"  But  how,  and  why,  and  wherefore  ? " 
screamed  Madame  Jorey. 

"  We  are  taking  Pauline  home  to  see  her 
own  doctor,"  explained  Madame  Rendu,  her 
black  eves  stabbinsi:  all  round.  M.  Rendu 
looked  heavy,  as  a  man  does  who  has  passed  a 
sleepless  night. 

Pauline's  eyes  were  downcast,  but  she 
flushed  and  paled  rapidly. 

"  A  I'avantage !  "  said  Madame  Rendu  cere- 
moniously. "  Allons,  Pierre,"  to  the  coach- 
man. 

"  Allons,  Pierre — en  route,"  repeated  M. 
Rendu,  and  the  carriage  drove  on 

"  What  a  woman !  "  said  Madame  Jorey 
laughing. 

Yilpont  pulled  at  his  moustaches. 

"  But  she  is  right,"  went  on  bonne  maman  ; 
"  she  is  doing  her  duty  as  a  mother." 


JACTA    ALEA    EST.  113 

CHAPTEE  XIII. 

JACTA    ALEA    EST. 

"  My  story  !  "  said  A^ilpont  at  the  end  of  the 
twenty-four  hours  Madame  Jorey  had  stipu- 
lated he  should  take  for  reflection, — "  a  few 
words  will  suffice. 

"  My  father  was  the  Yicorate  de  Kergeac, 
the  younger  brother  of  tlie  present  marquis  of 
tliat  name,  of  a  family  more  Royalist  than  the 
king  himself,  Henri  V.  hien  entendu.  My 
uncle  is  the  most  furious  Legitimist  of  the 
present  day, — the  most  narrow-minded  and 
honestest  man  I  ever  knew. 

"  As  a  matter  of  course  my  father  left  the 
arm.y  after  1830 — was  one  of  those  who  saw 
Charles  X.  safe  out  of  France — who  conspired 
with  Madame  du  Berri ;  and  being  fortunate 
enough  to  escape  any  other  exile  than  that  of 
his  brother's  chateau,  married  a  girl  beautiful, 
good,  and  poor  in  proportion.  He  died  shortly 
after  my  birth  of  the  effect  of  his  wounds, 
leaving  his  wife  and  two  boys,  of  whom  I  was 
the  younger,  to  the  care  of  the  marquis. 

"  I  received  little  notice  from  my  uncle  ;  all 
his  interest  centred  in  my  brother,  heir  to  his 
title  and  poverty.  The  marquis  himself,  I 
ought  to  have  told  you,  was  a  childless  widower. 
It  was  to  Adheniar  he  expounded  our  family 
history,  and  whom  he  initiated  in  the  intrica- 


114  jupitee's  daughters. 

cies  of  our  heraldic  devices — a  study  I  have 
never  mastered. 

"  I  was  my  mother's  companion  ;  and  seeing 
me  what  I  am,  you  will  wonder  to  hear  that  I 
was  looked  upon  then  as  a  little  saint.  I  was 
nourished  on  lives  of  saints,  on  hymns,  on 
legends  of  miracles.  From  the  time  I  could 
walk  alone,  I  took  my  part  in  holy  processions 
and  Pardons,  of  which  Bretagne  is  the 
country  jpar  excellence.  One  of  my  greatest 
delights  was  to  officiate  as  the  cure's  assistant 
at  mass— my  usual  reward  for  good  conduct 
during  the  week. 

Whether  from  this  apparent  vocation,  or 
from  family  tradition,  which  made  the  Church 
provide  for  younger  sons,  I  cannot  say,  but  the 
fact  is,  I  was  destined  for  the  priesthood." 

Here  Madame  Jorey  exclaimed,  "  Tiens, 
tiens ! "  lifting  up  her  arms,  her  amazement 
not  unmingled  with  a  sort  of  comic  horror. 

"  At  twelve  years  of  age,"  went  on  Yilpont, 
"  I  was  sent  to  the  Petit  Seminaire,  and  at  fif- 
teen was  on  the  point  of  being  transferred  to 
the  Grand  Seminaire,  when  my  brother  died 
from  the  effects  of  a  fall  from  his  horse. 

"  The  fathers  parted  from  me  with  regret. 
They  considered  me  a  promising  pupil,  one 
that  might  became  powerful  as  an  eloquent 
preacher." 

Madame  Jorey  shook  her  head. 

"Who  can  say  that  I  might  not  have  been 
another  Bossuet?"  continued  Vilpont.  Ser- 
mons and  comedies  have  much  the  same  end  in 


JACTA  ALEA  EST.  115 

view — to  ]ioint  out  and  condemn  the  errors  and 
vices  of  the  day.  However,  the  soutane  could 
not  be  allowed  to  extinguish  the  name  of  De 
Kergeac. 

"  As  long  as  my  mother  lived  I  remained  at 
the  chateau.  I  should  never  have  left  her,  liad 
she  survived  till  I  was  gray-headed.  But  she 
left  me." — Here  came  a  pause. — "  I  cannot  talk 
of  her;  her  image,  till  quite  lately,  has  laid  like 
a  seal  upon  my  heart,  shutting  out  any  other 
inmate. 

"  It  was  after  that  the  struo-o-le  beo-an  be- 
twecn  the  marquis  and  me— astonislung  how 
insufferable  excellent  people  can  be.  Preju- 
dice has  a  chemistry  of  its  own,  by  which  it 
transforms  our  best  impulses  into  bad  ones. 
At  the  best,  constant  contact  has  in  it  some- 
tliii'.g  irritating.  Even  kindness  itself  will 
sometimes  exasperate.  AVliat  then  must  be 
the  result  of  forced  companionship  between 
two  persons  with  peculiarities  tliat  gave  out 
sparks  the  Tnoment  they  met?  The  marquis 
belonged  to  the  old  world,  and  I  to  the  new. 
He  had  taken  it  for  granted  I  should  prove 
another  Adliomar,  and  I)ury  myself  willingly 
in  the  old  chateau,  with  its  parchuients,  tradi- 
tions, and  hopes  of  the  return  of  Henry  V. 
Perhaps  the  strength  of  a  sentiment  is  in  pro- 
portion to  its  being  a  single  one.  In  the  mar- 
quis's case  it  isolated  him  from  all  other  per- 
ceptions. 

"As  I  told  you  before,  we  separated.  I 
made  him  the  sacrifice  of  not  entering  any 


116  Jupiter's  daughters. 

profession  which  could  possibly  bring  me  in 
contact  with  the  Government.  lie  had  been 
a  careful  guardian,  and  he  put  me  at  once  in 
possession  of  my  father  and  mother's  small 
fortune,  with  the  accumulated  interest  since 
my  father's  death.  I  went  to  Paris,  dropped 
my  title,  and  you  know  the  rest." 

"  Well !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Jorey,  and 
there  was  a  whole  series  of  interrogations  in 
that  exclamation. 

He  answered, "  I  was,  and  I  am  perfectly  seri- 
ous in  begging  you  to  make  my  proposal  for 
Mademoiselle  Pauline  known  to  M.  and  Mme. 
Rendu.  If  I  do  not  marry  Mademoiselle  Ren- 
du, I  shall  never  have  a  wife." 

"  The  wind  carrieth  away  words  and  feath- 
ers," observed  the  old  lady.  "  It's  my  belief 
you  are  only  half-minded  in  this  proposal. 
Take  my  advice :  go  away  to  your  painted 
faces." 

"  Impossil)le,  till  I  have  an  answer." 

"  You  must  give  me  all  your  credentials," 
she  began.  "  The  title  and  address  of  your 
uncle,  the  marquis,  that  of  your  medical  man 
and  your  confessor." 

He  wrote  on  one  of  his  own  cards. 

"  There  is  the  title  and  address  of  my  uncle. 
As  for  the  others,  I  have  neither  doctor  for 
body  or  soul."  * 

Madame  Jorey  did  not  actually  whistle,  but 
she  screwed  up  her  lips  as  if  she  were  about  to 
do  so. 

"  No  profession,  or  worse  than  none — no  re- 


J  ACT  A    ALE  A    EST.  117 

ligion — a  downrio-lit  Bohemian  !  Don't  pro- 
pose, M.  Vilpont ;  you  will  1)e  refused. 
Tiiouo;h  I  like  you,  it's  in  spite  of  myself,  and 
I  could  not  advise  your  being  accepted." 

"  You  would  refuse  me  for  one  of  your 
grand-daughters  1  " 

"  As  flat  as  a  pancake,  my  dear  friend.  You 
are  not  one  of  us,  neither  by  birth,  nor  educa- 
tion, nor  h;d)its.  What  we  liold  sacred  is  a 
matter  of  indifference  to  you.  Our  ways  look 
mean  to  you.  We  call  you  a  free-thinker,  and 
you  call  us  bigots.  I  look  on  you  as  one  of 
the  best  specimens  of  the  l)utterfly  race,  but 
that  is  all.  There,  take  it  in  good  part ;  go 
your  way,  and  leave  us  to  go  ours." 

"  You  will  not  force  me  to  beg  Madame 
Chambaud's  assistance  ?  " 

It  was  a  capital  move,  and  checkmated  the 
good  lady. 

"  1^0,  no  ;  let  us  keep  clear  of  that  chattering 
pie. 

When  Yilpont  had  seen  Madame  Jorey  set 
off  for  St.  Gloi,  how  did  he  feel  ?  Muttering 
to  himself,  "  Jacta  alea  est,"  he  set  off  on  one 
of  his  long  walks.  "  Fate,"  so  ran  his  thoughts 
— "  fate  is  too  strong  for  the  strongest  among 
lis.  The  death  of  an  old  '03  man  brings  about 
an  unforeseen  visit,  a  thunderstorm,  and  a 
frightened  girl,  and  my  life  undergoes,  proba- 
bly, an  utter  change.  Has  man  any  free-will  ? 
Are  we  not  constantly  compelled  to  do  what, 
if  our  will  were  free,  we  would  not  do.  Cir- 
cumstances weave  the  web  of  all  oui-  lives,  not 


118  Jupiter's  daughteks. 

our  own  determination."  Destiny  rose  np  be- 
fore him  grave  and  sad. 

Xo  thinking  man  about  to  link  another  life 
with  liis  own,  but  must  look  forward  with  as 
much  anxiety  as  hope.  A^ilpont  could  not  ob- 
literate his  experiences  of  life ;  echoes  of  the 
past  were  in  his  ears.  lie  had  known  so  many 
set  out  gayly  on  the  route  he  was  proposing  to 
traverse,  who  had  been  forced  to  cover  tlieir 
heads  with  ashes,  and  to  bow  down  before 
grief  and  shame. 

There  was  one  fatality,  however,  of  which 
he  forgot  to  think — tliat  which  is  made  bv  our- 
selves,  by  our  errors,  or  by  defects  which  cause 
our  errors.  Faults  and  evil  experiences  were 
demanding  a  penalty  from  him  at  this  mo- 
ment, lie  could  not  silence  some  questions. 
With  the  admiration  and  tenderness  he  un- 
doubtedly felt  for  Pauline  there  was  strangely 
mingled  a  sense  of  disparity — her  innocence 
and  purity  with  the  lees  of  a  lawless  life. 

Love  (he  had  written  it  over  and  over  again) 
was  the  meeting  of  two  beings  in  perfect  ac- 
cord. And  between  this  gracious  (;hild  and 
himself  was  this  possible?  He  told  himself 
bitterly  enough  that  though  angels  rejoice  over 
the  repentant  sinner,  there  is  no  account  of  how 
the  sinner  feels  in  company  witli  the  angels. 
He  had  a  wretched  suspicion  that  even  loved 
by  and  loving  Pauline  he  might  weary 
of  his  existence.  Had  he  not  a  horror  of  a 
long-continued  conrse  of  fine  weather  ?  Had 
he  not  tired  of  blue  skies  and  gentle  zephyrs  ? 


J  ACTA   ALE  A    EST.  119 

"Was  constancy  possible  for  him  ?     Was  he  not 
always  curious  about  the  unknown  '^ 

And  how  should  he  dare  to  write  as  he  had 
done  with  a  madanie  at  his  fireside.  His  tal- 
ent (and  consequently  his  independence)  was, 
bound  up  and  limited  by  his  pictures  of  the 
realities  of  the  day. 

And  yet  his  whole  soul  revolted  when  he 
thouo^ht  of  the  great  probability  that  Madame 
Rendu  would  refuse  him.  And  he  expected 
she  would  do  so;  for  he  knew  there  was 
nothing  so  unconquerable  as  one  of  those  dis- 
likes without  any  reasonable  foundation,  and 
he  felt  that  dislike  was  a  mild  term  to  apply 
to  Madame  Rendu's  feelings  towards  him. 

And  now,  how  about  the  little  heroine  of  all 
these  meditations  and  consultations  ?, 


120  Jupiter's  daughters. 

CHAPTER  XIY. 

BONNE   MAMAN   ADVERSARY   AND   PARTISAN. 

"  I  WILL  liave  no  gossiping  about  yesterday," 
said  Madame  Eendu,  as  they  sat  down  to  the 
eleven  o'clock  breakfast.  "  By  this  time  it 
will  be  known  to  all  our  neighbors  that  we 
remained  the  night  at  Chateau  Ste.  Marie  ; 
every  one  will  be  calling  to  know  why.  Let 
them  hear  you  practising,  for  I  don't  choose 
that  you  should  have  to  explain  about  your 
feet.  To-morrow,  whatever  it  makes  you  suf- 
fer, you  must  go  out." 

"But  Pierre  knows,  mamma;  and  if  we 
don't  tell  ourselves,  some  wrong  story  will  get 
wind." 

"  Do  you  think  in  your  wisdom  that  the 
truth  is  ever  believed  ?  However,  I  will  not 
allow  you  to  dispute  with  me  ;  you  will  have 
to  give  up  your  love  of  contradiction,  Pauline, 
if  you  ever  mean  to  be  happy.  Go  and  do  as 
I  bid  you  ;  as  long  as  you  are  single,  I  shall 
take  care  you  are  not  one  of  the  young  ladies 
who  are  talked  about." 

Madame  Rendu  was  equal  to  the  occasion  ; 
she  entered  at  once  on  the  subject  of  the 
storm,  described  her  own  terrors,  and  her 
thankfulness  when  she  saw  Pauline  return 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  Cure.  Some 
rumors  were  already  floating  about  as  to  Pau- 


ADVERSAEY    AND    PARTISAN.  121 

line's  having  been  lost.  Madame  Rendu 
laughed,  saying  how  ingeniously  some  people 
worked  up  truth  and  fiction.  IIow  could  she 
be  lost  in  the  vineyard  close  to  the  Chateau, 
in  a  place  she  knew  as  well  as  she  did  the 
street  she  lived  in.  This  arranfyetnent  of  the 
subject,  coupled  with  the  sound  of  Pauline's 
piano,  liid  the  truth  for  the  time  being.  Ma- 
dame Rendu  resorted  to  another  device  to 
keep  it  concealed  in  the  future. 

She  mentioned  to  Madame  Chambaud,  in 
the  strictest  confidence,  that  slie  was  about  to 
give  a  ball  to  celebrate  Pauline's  twentieth 
birthday.  Did  Madame  Chambaud  think  that 
a  fancy-ball  would  be  ill-judged?  "But  it 
wonld  be  charminof,  charming!  "  vouched  Ma- 
dame  Chambaud.  Of  course  this  secret  was 
known  all  over  St.  Gloi  before  night,  as 
Madame  Rendu  had  confidently  expected  ;  and 
as  one  nail  drives  out  another,  so  did  this  re- 
port drive  away  all  others. 

Successful  in  all  that  regarded  the  outside 
of  the  affair,  Madame  Rendu  could  only 
smother,  not  eradicate,  her  secret  anxieties. 
Some  instinct  made  her  refrain  from  question- 
ing Pauline  as  to  Yilpont's  finding  her.  She 
dreaded  the  knowledge  she  might  acquire  ; 
for  she  knew  if  Pauline  spoke,  she  would  tell 
the  truth,  and  all  the  truth.  And  what  if  this 
truth  shackled  her  with  anv  oblio-ations  to  this 
writer  of  plays,  this  man  without  a  position. 

Pauline  presented  to  her  mother's  view  an 
unruflied  surface.  "  Ah  !  "  thought  the  ma- 
Q 


122  jdpitee's  daughters. 

iron,  "  give  me  aiiythino;  in  the  world  to  find 
out  but  a  girl's  feelings."  And  she  was  right ; 
space,  matter,  numbers,  may  come  to  be  ex- 
plained ;  but  how  make  clear  a  problem  that  a 
young  girl  will  not  herself  seek  to  solve  ?  It 
is  a  point  of  honor  with  a  respectable  French 
mother  to  give  her  daughter  to  a  husband  with 
a  heart  like  a  blank  sheet  of  paper  ;  and  Ma- 
dame Rendu  really  suffered  in  suspecting  that 
this  could  never  now  be  the  case  with  Pauline. 

A  thought  of  the  man  she  thus  dreaded 
offering  to  become  her  son-in-law  was  as  far 
from  her  mind  as  that  the  Sultan  or  the  Prince 
of  Wales  would  do  so.  Yet  the  moment  she 
saw  Madame  Jorey  get  out  of  her  cabriolet 
dressed  in  her  best  gown,  she  guessed  the  pur- 
port of  her  visit,  and  at  once  called  M.  Rendu, 
not  to  ask  his  opinion,  but  to  hear  her  decision. 

Madame  Jorey  certainly  disapproved  of 
Yilpont  as  a  husband  for  Pauline,  but  is  it 
difhcult  to  accept  a  mission  of  confidence  and 
to  keep  clear  of  partisanship  ?  It  was  long 
since  honne  mammiJs  heart  had  beat  so  fast  as 
when  she  met  the  glance  of  Madame  Rendu's 
hard  eyes.  The  lengthy  interchange  of  com- 
pliments and  inquiries  gave  the  ambassadress 
time  to  recover  her  usual  sang  froid. 

"  How  is  Pauline  ?  "  she  bejijan. 

"Very  well ;  she  only  required  a  day  s  rest.. 
She  got  up  as  well  as  ever  this  morning,  and 
is  at  the  ouvroirr  * 

*  Ouvroir,    work-room    superintended    by    charitable 
ladies. 


ADVEKSAKY    AND    PARTISAN.  123 

M.  Rendu  now  ap])eared,  and  there  M'as  a 
renewal  of  compliments  and  salutations.  Then 
Madame  Jorey,  yielding  to  necessity,  opened 
her  communication. 

"  I  brina;  a  proposal  of  marriage  for  ray  god- 
daughter from  a  future  marquis,  an  old  Bre- 
ton noble." 

Madame  Rendu  was  startled  for  an  instant 
by  the  unexpected  announcement. 

"  His  name  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  M.  Alberic  Vilixmt,  Vicomte  de  Kergeac," 
said  Madame  Jorey,  pompously  and  solemnly. 

"  You  need  not  go  on,  my  dear  lady,"  said 
Madame  Rendu  promptly,  and  stretching  out 
her  feet,  a  gesture  of  contempt  well  known  to 
all  her  acquaintance.  "  We  refuse  absolutely," 
she  added,  accentuating  each  word. 

"  My  wife,  my  wife,"  interposed  M.  Rendu, 
"  let  us  at  least  hear  what  our  excellent  friend 
has  to  say." 

"  What  can  she  say,  but  that  this  man  is 
without  religion  or  morals  ?  He  has  never  put 
his  foot  into  a  church  since  he  has  been  here." 

"  Pardon  me,"  interrupted  Madame  Jorey  ; 
"  he  went  with  ns." 

"  Yes,  true,  with  the  girls,  as  he  would  have 
gone  to  a  play.  But  leaving  that  point,  I  have 
sufficient  reasons  for  my  decision  :  first,  his 
immoral  writings  ;  and  secondly,  his  vagabond 
ways.  Why  dt)es  he  go  about  under  false  pre- 
tences ?  why  conceal  his  name  and  rank  ? " 

"  Easy  to  explain  ;  "  and  Madame  Jore}'^  re- 
lated what  Yilpont  had  told  her  of  his  story. 


124  jtjpiter's  dadghtees. 

Madame  Rendu  listened  as  we  do  when  we 
have  made  np  our  mind  beforehand,  and  are 
decided  to  let  no  argument  influence  us. 

"  I  regret  this  projjosal,"  she  said  when  Ma- 
dame Jorey  concluded,  "  and  I  am  sure  M. 
Hendu  agrees  with  me.  Were  M.  Vilpont  ten 
times  as  noble,  ten  times  as  famous,  ten  times 
as  rich,  I  would  say  the  same.  I  look  on  him 
as  an  example  of  all  that  is  worst  in  our  coun- 
try. I  would  as  soon  sign  Pauline's  death- 
warrant  as  her  marriage  contract  with  him." 

A  deep  sigh  made  them  all  turn  round : 
Pauline  was  standing  at  the  inner  door  of 
communication. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  her  mother,  "  retire  to 
your  own  room." 

Pauline  vanished  almost  before  the  order 
was  pronounced.  She  had  not  even  a  thought 
of  claiming  a  voice  in  the  decision  of  lier  fate. 

As  M.  Rendu  led  Madame  Jorey  down- 
stairs to  put  her  into  her  cabriolet,  he  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "  I  beg  you  will  thank  LI.  Vilpont 
for  the  honor  he  has  done  us ;  but  you  see,  we 
think  it  is  best  for  us  hourgeois  to  keep  to  our 
own  class  ;  Ave  could  not  bear  to  be  separated 
from  our  child." 

"  As  for  wliat  I  tell  the  Yicomte  de  Iver- 
geac,  I  sliall  use  my  own  discretion,  2>€re  Ren- 
du. I  confess  I  don't  think  Madame  Rendu 
wrong,  though  she  might  have  been  more 
polite.  I  am  sorry  for  the  lad,  I  like  him  ; 
and  when  I  like,  1  like  ;  and  when  I  hate,  it's 
with  all  my  heart." 


ADVERSARY    AND    PARTISAN.  125 

Madame  Jorey  did  use  her  own  discretion, 
wliich  led  her  to  be  more  candid  than  compas- 
sionate in  the  account  she  gave  Vilpont  of  the 
interview  with  tlie  Rendus.  She  entirely 
omitted  to  mention  Pauline's  sigh  or  how  pale 
and  pitiful  hei-  face. 

Vilpont  changed  color  so  violently  that  the 
old  lady  paused  and  repented.  She  then  bus- 
tled away,  returning  presently  with  a  glass  of 
wine,  "  Drink  that,"  she  said  ;  "  I  have  not 
given  a  drop  of  it  to  a  soul  since  Jorey  died." 

lie  put  aside  the  wine  with  a  "  Thank  you, 
I  do  not  need  that  kind  of  support."  After  a 
short  silence  he  went  on,  "  I  sincerely  intend- 
ed to  try  and  make  Mademoiselle  Pauline 
happy,  and  with  her  sweet  disposition  the  task 
would  not  have  been  a  hard  one.  That  is  now 
a  past  hope.  Perhaps  you  will  not  think  it 
wrong  to  tell  her  how  entirely  I  admired  and 
reverenced  her." 

"  Better  let  that  alone,"  replied  honne  ma- 
man,  "girls'  hearts  are  such  tender  things. 
When  1  was  seventeen,  my  dear  sir,  I  was 
ready  to  marry  any  man,  and  to  believe  I 
loved  him.  Don't  fancy  I  am  not  your  friend 
because  I  say  I  think  Madame  Rendu  has 
done  wisely.  How  can  a  girl  judge  a  man  as 
W'ell  as  a  mother  ? " 

"  Discussion  on  that  point  now  is  useless  ;  I 
would  rather  thank  3'ou  for  all  _your  goodness 
to  me.  I  shall  never  forget  Ste.  Marie  les 
Vignes  and  its  kind  chdtelainey  Vilpont 
took  her  hand  and  kissed  it.     Bonne  maman 


126  Jupiter's  dadghters. 

reddened  prodigiously,  then  went  a\ray  as  fast 
as  slie  could,  making;  a  portentous  noise  with 
her  handkerchief.  Vil])ont  busied  himself  at 
once  with  preparations  for  leaving  the  follow- 
ing day.  He  did  not  see  his  hostess  again  till 
dinner;  she  kept  out  of  his  way,  actually 
dreading  to  meet  him.  To  lier  surprise,  he 
met  her  with  his  usual  composure,  and  exert- 
ing all  his  powers  of  pleasing,  so  won  on  the 
poor  lady,  that  she  came  over  quite  to  his  side, 
in  spite  of  his  efforts,  or  rather  in  consequence 
of  them,  she  grew  more  and  more  fidgety  and 
low-spirited,  and  this  state  of  her  mind  will 
excuse  the  useless  thing  she  afterwards  did. 
A  letter  from  Pauline  was  given  to  her  just  as 
Yilpont  had  gone  out  to  smoke  his  cigar. 
Pauline  had  written  but  a  few  lines — 

"  Pear  Marraine, — I  have  a  favor  to  beg, 
now  that  it  is  all  over.  It  will  make  me  liappi- 
er  if  you  will  ask  M.  Yilpont  to  forgive  me  for 
once  being  rude  to  him,  very  rude.  I  said  one 
evening,  meanino:  him  to  hear  me,  that  I  had 
gone  to  sleep  while  his  beautiful  poem  was 
being  read.  It  was  not  true.  I  had  heard 
every  word.  I  was  ashamed  at  having  cried. 
I  wanted  to  vex  him  ;  just  my  l)ad  temper,  I 
could  not  help  it.  I  should  not  like  him  to  go 
away  thinking  ill  of  me,  dear  inai'raine. 
Please  to  tell  him. — Your  respectful,  loving 
godchild,  Pauline." 

Madame  Jorey  put  this  poor  effusion  into 
Yilpont's  hand. 


ADVERSARY   AND   PARTISAN.  127 

lie  rcfid  it  thron<^h.  "  Tell  her,"  he  began, 
and  suddenly  broke  down.  He  covered  liis 
face  ;  his  chest  heaved  as  when  a  man  weeps  ; 
honne  maman  was  first  struck  speechless  and 
motionless,  then  she  rushed  at  him,  stroking 
his  hair  as  if  he  had  been  a  little  chikl,  mut- 
tering the  inevitable,  "  Tiens,  tiens,  tiens !  " 


128  Jupiter's  daughters. 


CHAPTER  XY. 

FRENCH    CUSTOM    SINCE    ADAM   DELVED. 

"Can  a  bird  fall  in  a  snare  upon  the  earth  where  no  gin 
is  set  for  hiin." 

During  the  following  two  years  Stephanie 
Jorey  was  married  to  M.  de  Saye,  and  her  sis- 
ter Julie  became  the  wife  of  a  rich  Lyons 
manufacturer.  ''  Unexceptionable  marriages 
—  charming  households  — jolis  menages  !  " 
chorused  the  Jorevs  and  their  relations. 

M.  de  Saye  had  hrst  proposed  for  Pauline  ; 
but  Pauline  on  that  occasion  found  sufficient 
courage  to  express  an  unconditional  refusal. 

"  I  must  at  least  not  loathe  my  husband," 
she  said,  with  a  flash  of  anger,  and  Madame 
Pendu  was  silenced. 

This  occurred  while  Pauline's  recollection 
of  the  day  in  the  vineyard  was  in  all  its  fresh- 
ness. She  had,  besides,  a  foolish  idea  that  it 
was  treachery  in  M.  de  Saye  to  wish  to  sup- 
plant his  friend. 

Poor  Madame  Rendu,  notwithstanding  her 
strong  will,  her  prudence,  and  her  fancy-ball, 
had  not  succeeded  in  keeping  out  of  the  do- 
main of  gossip  what  Madame  Chambaud  call- 
ed "  The"Vilp(mt  Romance." 

Alfred  do  Musset  says  somewhere  that 
"  everything  is  known  save  that  which  is  un- 


FRENCH    CUSTOM    SINCE    ADAM    DELVED.      129 

known."  So  it  proved  in  this  case.  Within 
forty-eight  hours  after  okl  Madame  Jorey's 
ofhcial  visit  to  the  Rendus,  Vilpont's  rescue  of 
the  lost  damsel,  his  offer  of  marriage,  his  title 
and  expectations,  were  discussed  hj  every  man 
and  woman  in  St.  Gloi.  What  they  never 
knew  was  what  had  passed  during  the  tete-d- 
tete  walk,  when  those  few  words  had  been 
spoken,  awakening  new  feelings  in  Pauline ; 
words  on  which  hinged  all  the  future  happiness 
or  unhappiness  of  her  life. 

Madame  Rendu  had  been  forced  to  give  up 
her  Sisyphean  task  of  stemming  questions — 
the  tyranny  of  intimacy  had  forced  her  to 
speak  out ;  that  is,  she  had  given  facts,  as  bare 
as  it  was  possible. 

A  stern  follower  of  the  social  code  of  her 
country,  tliat  Aer  daughter  should  have  been 
compelled  b}'^  untoward  fate  to  infringe  one 
of  its  strictest  articles,  fretted  her  spirit  to  a 
point  of  exasperation  that  English  mothers 
wnll  scarcely  understand.  The  Frenchwoman 
knew  she  had  to  reckon  with  the  traditional 
prejudices  and  customs  of  her  nation,  all  dead 
against  a  tete-d-tete  between  a  girl  and  any 
man  not  her  father  or  brother. 

"Yery  well  for  you  English,"  says  the 
Frenchman  ;  but  "  mon  cher,  such  freedom 
does  not  answer  with  us." 

Judge  Madame  Rendu,  therefore,  by  French, 
and  not  British  social  laws. 

For  perhaps  the  first  time  in  her  life, 
Pauline's  mother  had  a  doubt  of  her  own  wis- 
6» 


130  Jupiter's  daughters. 

dom.  She  was  assailed  by  a  secret  fear  tliat 
Pauline's  "  heai-t  had  spoken "  before  leave 
given — another  grave  infraction  of  rules — and 
this  fear  made  her  doubt  whether  she  had  done 
wisely  in  giving  Vilpont  so  summary  a  dismis- 
sal. Impossible  to  deny  that  he  had  acted 
delicately  and  honorably ;  it  was  infinitely 
painful  to  her  to  doubt  her  own  judgment, 
but  she  liad  strength  of  will  enough  never  to 
breathe  to  Inmian  being  that  she  had  been  in 
any  uncertainty  as  to  her  own  infallibility. 
She  continued  to  abstain  from  all  investiga- 
tions of  Pauline's  feelino-s,  bein^j  aware  of  the 
gulf  which  divides  conjecture  from  knowl- 
edge. 

The  first  left  her  unhampered ;  the  last 
would  have  prevented  her  urging  Pauline  to 
accept  ]\r.  de  Saye. 

On  whatever  indications  might  be  founded 
Madame  Rendu's  mismvino-s,  none  of  those 
who  saw  Pauline  intimately  ever  came  near  a 
supposition  that  the  girl  nourished  any  regrets. 
She  took  the  liveliest  interest  in  the  trousseaux 
of  her  two  friends,  accepted  cheerfully  the  of- 
fice of  demoiselle  dlionneibr  on  the  occasion  of 
their  marriages,  and  was  so  amiable  and  friend- 
ly to  M.  de  oaye,  that  he  more  than  once  won- 
dered if  the  refusal  of  his  offer  had  not  come 
from  the  mother  alone. 

Vilpont,  in  De  Saye's  place,  would  never 
have  doubted  at  all.  The  amiability  and 
friendliness  of  young  ladies  towards  gentle- 
men bears  many  interpretations. 


FRENCH    CUSTOM    SINCE    ADAM   DELVED.      131 

Duriiio;  the  summer  of  that  year  the  Rendns 
went  to  Switzerland,  extending;  their  journey 
to  the  Italian  lakes.     Such  a  departure  from 

their  custom  of  going  to  the  baths  of  S 

naturally  excited  comment.  Like  all  small 
towns  which  are  isolated,  as  it  were,  from  gen- 
eral interests,  St.  Gloi  fell  back  on  the  private 
affairs  of  its  citizens — nothing,  as  we  know, 
too  trivial  to  be  talked  about. 

"  There  is  no  understanding  the  Rendu  poll-' 
tics,"  observed  Madame  Chambaud — ^"  travel- 
ling when  they  ought  to  be  marrying  their 
daughter.  Pauline  is  twenty-two,  and  she  is 
just  the  sort  of  girl  to  lose  her  looks  early. 
Only  classical  features  can  bear  the  want  of 
the  freshness  of  youth." 

''  You  forget  how  accomplished  she  is,"  re- 
plied Madame  Edmond  Jorey,  the  words  mean- 
ing one  thing,  the  intonation  another. 

"  After  all,  dear  m.adame,  there  is  compen- 
sation for  everything.  Stephanie  and  Julie, 
who  claim  no  superiority,  are  happy  wives  and 
mothers.  Poor  Pauline!  I  scarcely  like  to 
blame  her ;  but  when  a  girl  sets  herself  against 
general  rules.  Heaven  knows  how  it  will 
end." 

"  In  a  convent,  very  likely,"  said  some  other 
friend  of  Madame  Kendu. 

Though  thev  sat  in  iudo-ment  on  them,  all 
these  people  were  glad  to  see  the  Rend  us  back 
a^ain.  Their  gossip  is  to  be  taken  only  as  one 
of  the  proofs  that  "  man  is  the  delight  of 
man." 


132  Jupiter's  daughters. 

A  great  change  was  remarked  in  Panliiu's 
appearance.  Some  thought  it  was  an  improve- 
ment, others  that  she  was  dreadfully  gone  off. 

"  You  have  grown,  Pauline,"  said  one  ma- 
dame. 

"  She  looks  so  because  she  is  thinner,"  re- 
marked another. 

"  Remember,  my  dear,"  here  put  in  Madame 
Chambaud,  "  that  youth  does  not  last  forever." 

Even  old  Madame  Jorey  began  to  shoot 
arrows  at  her  god-daughter  ;  but  that  was  after 
hearino;  that  Pauline  had  refused  M.  Belair, 
the  banker  s  only  son. 

On  one  of  the  Sunday  visits,  the  old  lady 
said  more  seriously  than  usual,  "  Pauline,  when 
I  was  young,  1  had  some  of  your  rebellious 
spirit.  I  should  have  preferred  another  sort 
of  husband  to  the  one  my  father  accepted  for 
me.  But  Jorey  did  me  the  favor  to  live  till  I 
had  reached  the  age  of  common  sense,  when  I 
freely  confessed  my  father  had  been  right  and 
I  wrong.  Depend  on  it,  my  child,  customs 
which  have  ruled  generation  after  generation 
are  not  without  their  raison  (Titre.  Now,  our 
custom  from  Adam  has  been  to  choose  hus- 
bands and  wives  for  our  children  ;  we  know 
their  dispositicms,  and  what  will  suit  them.  Is 
an  ignorant,  unexperienced  girl's  fancy  to  rule 
her  parents  ?     Ridiculous  !  " 

Pauline  said  quietly,  "  Do  you  think,  then, 
that  a  girl's  likings  or  dislikings  ought  to  be 
overlooked  ?  " 

"  She  ought  not  to  have  any  ;  a  really  good 


FRENCH    CUSTOil    SINCE    ADAM   DELVED.      133 

girl  should  not  know  anything  of  feeling  of 
preference  as  regards  men." 

"  But  suppose  you  cannot  help  havhig  such 
feelings  ? " 

"  Be  ashamed  of  them,  and  conquer  them, 
or  they  will  lead  you  to  perdition." 

Pauline  malcing  no  reply,  the  old  lady  ut- 
tered an  impatient,  "  Well,  little  rebel  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am  not  rebellious." 

"  Just  as  Pharaoh  said  to  Moses,  and  hard- 
ened his  heart  against  all  advice.  Don't  you 
understand  that  you  are  breaking  God's  com- 
mandment to  honor  and  obey  your  fatlier  and 
mother  ?  Don't  you  see  that  you  are  commit- 
ting the  sin  of  putting  self  first  ?  Tour  mother 
is  not  half  the  woman  she  was  ;  she  spares  yon, 
but  you  do  not  spare  her.  And  if  you  had 
only  a  good  cause ;  but,  my  pretty  one,  you 
have  but  a  very  bad  one.  There,  now  I  shall 
say  no  more." 

Madame  Jorey  was  not  the  woman  to  preach 
without  a  motive.  In  fact,  St.  Gloi  was  once 
more  beginning  to  speculate  as  to  Mademoi- 
selle Pendu's  marriage.  It  was  in  the  air  that 
another  pretender  was  in  the  field.  Pumor 
rivals  M.  AVorth  in  the  ingenious  costumes  it 
invents  for  whatever  it  has  to  drape  ;  in  this 
instance  it  so  travestied  the  one  grain  of  fact, 
that  it  could  never  have  been  identified. 

It  was  said— hnt  that  was  nothing — it  was 
actually  helieved,  that  Pauline  was  abcnit  to 
marry  a  black  prince.  The  organist's  wife 
shuddered,  and  exclaimed,  "  O  heavens  ?  how 


134:  Jupiter's  daughters, 

glad  I  am  I  can  go  to  the  (organ)  gallerv,  I 
would  not  miss  seeing  them  married  for  gold. 
Horrible,  isn't  it  ?  " 

M.  Leon  Subar,  the  gentleman  in  question, 
possessed,  indeed,  a  fine  brown  complexion, 
altogether  different  from  African  black. 
Though  he  had  been  born  in  Algiers,  both 
parents  were  of  unadulterated  French  blood. 
He  was  joang,  rich,  handsome,  and  his  own 
master,  his  father  and  mother  being  dead. 
He  had  met  the  Hendus  at  Aix  les  Bains, 
where  they  had  stopped  on  their  way  home- 
ward from  Italv.  He  had  danced  with  Pan- 
line,  heard  her  sing,  was  extremely  struck  by 
the  beauty  of  her  complexion  and  her  lovely 
fair  liair. 

AVhen  M.  Leon  Subar  wished  to  gratify 
liimself,  he  was  not  wanting  in  energy.  Now, 
as  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  make  Pauline  his 
wife,  he  speedily  set  in  motion  all  the  usual 
machinery  by  which  matrimonial  overtures 
are  made.  He  procured  an  introduction  to  Ma- 
dame Chambaud,  through  one  of  the  many 
who  knew  of,  or  had  heard  of,  that  lady's 
especial  talents,  and  he  entrusted  the  negotia- 
tion to  her. 

Cool  as  Madame  Rendu  was,  she  was  dazzled 
by  the  array  of  figures  .representing  M.  Subar's 
fortune. 

"And  so  handsome  into  the  bargain,"  ob- 
served Madame  Chambaud  in  the  tone  of  an 
auctioneer.   . 

"  I  don't  believe  Pauline  has  given  him  a 


FRENCH   CUSTOM    SINCE    ADAM   DELVED.      135 

thought,"  sighed  Madame  Rendu.  "I  did 
wrong  not  to  marry  her  when  she  was  eighteen." 

"  Slie  will  not  have  waited  for  nothing  if  she 
becomes  Madame  Subar.  It  will  be  a  mag- 
nificent marriage  for  her,  and  you  really  must 
this  time  be  firm.  When  the  happiness  of  a 
child  is  in  the  balance,  it  is  a  parent's  duty 
to — to  tighten  the  reins."  Madame  Cham- 
baud's  metaphor  halted,  but  not  so  her  enthu. 
siasm. 

Madame  Rendu  said  afterwards  to  M. 
Rendu,  as  they  talked  the  matter  over,  "  How 
easy  other  people's  difiiculties  seem  to  us  !  " 

Pauline  understood  perfectly  that  her  dis- 
like to  marrying  inflicted  mortification  and 
pain  on  her  parents.  It  was  eccentric ;  and 
nowhere  in  the  world  is  eccentricity  in  a  woman 
so  derided  and  condemned  as  in  the  small 
provincial  towns  of  France:  it  is  considered 
to  denote  a  moral  leprosy. 

Hitherto  Pauline,  in  right  of  her  youth  and 
the  Rendu  fortune  and  position  in  St.  Gloi, 
had  escaped  this  stigma.  But  indulgence  and 
patience  have  their  limits.  Many  a  time  had 
even  Madame  Rendu's  iron  nerves  been  jarred 
by  innuendoes  as  to  the  mystery  of  such  and 
such  a  girl  of  the  speaker's  acquaintance  not 
being  married.  But  she  dared  not  tell  Pau- 
line the  reasons  that  might  I)c  invented  to 
account  for  her  extraordinary  obstinacy. 

Pauline,  however,  was  so  lectured  and  ad- 
vised on  all  hands,  tliat  she  was  brought  to  ask 
herself  "why  she  should  refuse  to  do  as  others 


130  Jupiter's  daughters. 

did — it  was  evidently  tlie  rule  to  marry  ?  "Why 
then  set  herself  against  the  rule  ?  Why,  in- 
deed, save  that  she  had  more  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing, more  honesty  of  heart,  than  the  generality  ; 
that  she  had  a  perception — dim,  indeed,  in 
reason  of  her  inexperience — that  marriage 
ought  to  be  something  better  than  a  mere 
social  contract  and  a  union  of  fortunes? 


THE    GREAT    "  YES."  137 


CHAPTEK  XYI. 

THE    GREAT    "  YES." 

"  Dans  I'opinion  du  monde,  la  mariage,  comme  dans 
la  comedie,  finit  tout.  C'est  precisement  le  contraire  qui 
est  vrai ;  ii  commence  tout." — Madame  SevetcMne. 

The  next  step  was  an  interview  between  M. 
and  Mme.  Rendu  and  the  "  pretender."  M. 
Subar  was  candor  itself.  He  had  nothing  to 
conceal.  He  was  "  healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise." 
That  was  his  summing  up  of  his  qualifica- 
tions. The  address  of  his  notary  he  offei-ed. 
As  for  that  of  his  medical  man  (quite  in  the 
usages  to  ask  for  it),  he  could  not  give  it  as — ■ 
"  Mon,  Dieu  !  I  have  never  had  one  since  I 
had  the  measles  when  I  was  six  years  old." 

M.  Subar  was  of  course  impatient  for  an 
ansv\'er.  He  did  not  dislike  being  the  object 
of  universal  interest  and  observation  in  St. 
Gloi,  but  lie  M^ould  prefer  being  also  assured 
that  he  was  regarded  as  a  conqueror,  and  not 
as  a  victim. 

"  My  daughter  cannot  be  hurried,"  replied 
Madame  Eendu.  At  his  gestures  of  vexation, 
she  added,  "  It  is  for  your  sake  I  say  so.  It 
will  not  do  to  alarm  her  by  pressing  for  an  im- 
mediate decision." 

M.  Subar  could  scarcely  conceal  his  surprise 
that  any  young  lady  could  need  time  or  prep- 
aration  to   say  "Yes"   to    him.      "Healthy, 


138  Jupiter's  daughters. 

wealtliy,  wise,"  and,  "  ma  foi,  hel  homme^'' 
what  could  a  girl  want  more  ? 

It  had  been  one  of  Madame  Rendu's  fre- 
quently expressed  self-laudations  that  she  had 
never  felt  timid  under  any  circumstances — 
that  nothino;  ever  threw  her  off  her  balance. 
But  what  if  her  pulse  had  been  felt  when  she 
shut  the  door  of  her  dressing-room  on  Pauline 
and  herself  ? 

Madame  Rendu  had  this  marriage  at  heart. 
It  was  brilliant  beyond  her  expectations.  It 
would  be  the  \\2i^^\)J  finale  to  many  anxieties 
and  mortifications  endured  in  silence,  and  not 
without  a  spice  of  heroism.  Mingling  with 
all  her  commonplace  views  of  life  tliei'e  was  a 
spark  of  the  martyr's  spirit  which  sacrifices  all 
for  the  sake  of  duty.  No  one  could  say 
Madame  Rendu  had  swerved  an  iota  from  her 
idea  of  the  straight  line.  An  obedient  daugh- 
ter, she  had  married  M.  Rendu,  not  only  in- 
different to  him,  but  with  a  suspicion  of  aver- 
sion. She  had  been  a  steady  matron,  strict  in 
conduct  if  not  affectionate  in  manner,  and  a  con- 
scientious mother.  Naturally,  she  expected 
that  her  daughter  could  do  what  she  had  done. 
Madame  Rendu  did  not  believe  in  any  stronger 
feelings  than  her  own,  measuring  (as  indeed 
we  all  do)  others  by  herself. 

Pauline  turned  very  pale  when  her  mother 
opened  the  conversation  by  saying,  "  I  have 
something  serious  to  talk  to  you  about." 

Pauline  kissed  her  mother  before  taking  the 
chair  by  her  side. 


TUE   GREAT   "  YES."  139 

"  I  am  quite  prepared,  mamma,  for  yonr 
information."  This  was  spoken  with  a  little 
nervous  lau2;h. 

Madame  Ilendu  did  not  approve  of  this  tak- 
ing of  the  initiative  out  of  her  hands  ;  it  augured 
ill  for  the  success  of  M.  Subar's  proposal,  at 
all  events. 

"  My  dear,  hear  what  I  have  to  say  before 
giving  me  an  answer." 

Pauline  listened  as  silent  and  motionless  as 
if  she  had  been  a  statue  to  an  enumeration  of 
all  the  advantages,  personal  and  material,  to 
be  gained  through  becoming  M.  Subar's  wife. 
This  was  followed  by  an  outburst  of  long 
pent-up  disappointment.  Madame  Rendu 
warming  up  into  something  like  eloquence  as 
she  spoke  of  her  own  thwarted  expectations, 
and  of  the  small  gratitude  Pauline  had  shown 
for  all  the  care  and  kindness  lavished  on  her. 
In  truth,  Madame  Rendu,  'n  her  dread  of  a 
new  failure,  said  more  than  she  meant  or  than 
was  true.  Pauline's  demeanor  remained  as 
calm  under  this  avalanche  of  reproach  as  she 
h'^d  done  under  the  glowing  picture  of  M. 
Subar  as  a  husband. 

Madame  Rendu  wound  up  by  saying,  "  I 
know  you  have  some  absurd  theory  about  lov- 
ing the  man  you  marry.  That  means  just 
this — you  love  your  own  fancy.  No  woman 
ever  sees  what  a  man  really  is  till  after  mar- 
riage." 

''  Such  reasoning,  dear  mother,  goes  to  prove 
that  it  is  as  well  to  take  one  man  as  another. 


140  Jupiter's  daughters. 

That  being  so,  I  will  accept  of  M.  Subar  as 
my  future  husband." 

This  unexpected  acquiescence  startled  Ma- 
dame Rendu,  Her  first  speech  showed  this, 
being  so  contradictory  of  wliat  she  had  been 
trying  to  impress  on  Pauline. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  feel  a  repugnance  to 
this  gentleman." 

"  Not  more  for  him  than  another.  As  I 
must  marry,  it  is  lucky  that  I  can  please  you 
and  my  father." 

Madame  Rendu  did  not,  after  all,  relish  this 
mode  of  acceptance,  though  it  had  in  it  many 
of  the  usual  words  with  which  young  ladies 
announce  their  consent.  She  would  have  liked 
to  put  the  crucial  question,  "  Would  you  have 
made  exactly  this  answer  had  it,  instead  of  M. 
Subar,  been  M.  Vilpont,"  but  she  dared  not. 

Not  half  so  pleased  as  the  fulfilment  of  her 
wish  should  have  made  her,  Madame  Rendu 
wrote  to  invite  M.  Subar  to  dinner  next  day. 

He  understood  that  the  invitation  meant  ac- 
ceptance. 

lie  was  received  in  the  grand  salon  by  his 
future  father  and  mother  in  law.  Then  Pau- 
line was  summoned,  and  asked  by  her  father 
if  she  willingly  accepted  M.  Leon  Subar  for 
her  husband.  She  bowed,  and  M.  Rendu  add- 
ed solemnly,  ''M.  Subar,  embrace  your  wife." 

Leon  sprang  forward,  kissed  Pauline  first  on 
both  cheeks,  and  then  her  two  hands.  Turn- 
ing from  her  to  her  parents,  he  received  the 
paternal  and  maternal  accolade.     After  that 


TUE    GKEAT   "  YES."  141 

they  went  in  to  dinner,  -wliicli  saved  the  awk- 
M^ardness  of  the  situation.  Before  evening 
the  event  was  known  to  half  the  town,  dis- 
cussed at  the  Circle^  and  was  the  one  subject 
of  conversation  in  most  of  the  drawing-rooms. 

"  Really  I  can  scarcely  believe  it,"  said  Ste- 
phanie de  Saye.  "  Pauline  had  got  quite  an 
old-maid  look,  and  yet  M.  Subar  is — so  Ma- 
dame Chambaud  says — wild  about  her." 

Nothing  could  be  more  graceful,  more  ac- 
cording to  etiquette,  than  Pauline's  behavior 
during  two  days.  She  sat  by  the  side  of  her 
betrothed,  sang  and  played  at  his  request, 
smiled  when  he  spoke  to  her  ;  yet  before  the 
end  of  the  third  day  Leon  was  exasperated 
and  despairing. 

"  She  was  so  charming  at  Aix,  and  now  she 
is  like  a  machine.  I  wonder  if  it's  her  moth- 
er's fault." 

Pauline  was  every  whit  as  uneasy  and  dis- 
tressed. 

Imagine  Madame  Rendu's  feelings  when 
Pauline  suddenly  asked  her  if  she  could  not 
withdraw  her  word. 

'•  Do  you  want  to  break  my  heart  ?  "  asked 
the  dismayed  mother,  and  left  the  room  in  a 
paroxysm  of  alarm. 

What  was  to  be  the  end  of  it  all  ?  It  had  been 
trying  to  have  a  daughter  averse  to  marry — 
painful  to  believe  that  this  aversion  had  given 
rise  to  disagreeable  surmises.  But  what  was 
that  to  the  inevitable  results  of  Pauline's  break- 
ing her  word  to  M.  Subar  ?     The  poor  lady 


142  Jupiter's  daughters. 

conld  not  and  did  not  conceal  from  herself  that 
notliinoj  less  would  happen  than  that  there 
would  be  waggings  of  heads  and  sage  observa- 
tions that  there  must  be  some  cause  for  such  ex- 
traordinary conduct.  Madame  Rendu  seemed 
to  hear  shrill  voices  pronouncing  adverse  ver- 
dicts— "  Such  a  handsome,  agreeable,  rich, 
young  man — a  very  heaic  ideal  of  a  husband — 
to  be  refused  !  There  must  be  a  cause  ;  and 
what  was  it  ? " 

Madame  Rendu  was  as  sure  of  these  re- 
marks being  made  as  though  slie  actually  heard 
them.  She  had  a  clue  to  Pauline's  reluctance, 
but  others  had  not,  and  she  hoped,  with  all  her 
heart,  they  never  might  find  it.  "  Oh,  that 
man !  that  man  !  Ugly,  too  ;  and  M.  Subar 
so  superior  in  so  many  ways  !  "  It  was  use- 
less now  to  give  way  to  regret,  it  was  necessaiy 
to  act,  to  get  some  help  with  this  terribly  un- 
common girl.  In  her  dire  strait,  Madame 
Rendu  sent  for  Madame  Chambaud. 

Madame  Chambaud  hurried  in  all  smiles, 
and  began  a  string  of  commonplace  congratu- 
lations. 

"  So  handsome,  so  pleasant,  so  rich.  Really 
it  did  always  so  happen ;  riclies  went  as  natu- 
rally to  riches  as  rivers  to  the  sea.  But  where, 
then,  was  the  young  madame  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  returned  Madame  Rendu  ;  "  lie  is 
rich,  handsome,  and  amiable.  But  Pauline 
never  can  be  like  other  people,  I  now  believe 
Madame  Agnes  put  every  kind  of  crotchet  into 
her  silly  little  head.     She  is  in  bed  to-day. 


THE   GRExVT   "  YES."  143 

One  would  suppose  no  one  had  ever  been  mar- 
ried before." 

"  And  the  handsomest  man  I  have  seen  tliese 
twenty  years  ! "  ejaculated  plamtively  Madame 
Chambaud. 

"  Yesterday  she  was  all  cheerfulness,"  went 
on  Madame  Rendu ;  "  and  now  there  she  is, 
her  face  hid  in  her  pillow." 

"  Let  me  go  to  her,  dear  madame ;  I  have 
had  some  ex])erience  of  these  girlisli  panics," 
said  Madame  Chambaud,  and  with  truth. 
"  Some  need  scolding,  some  coaxing,  but  I  al- 
M'ays  managed  to  cure  their  terrors." 

Madame  Chambaud  was  not  the  least 
daunted  by  Pauline's  face  or  her  wide-opened 
pathetic  eyes.  She  sat  herself  down  by  the 
bedside,  and  delivered  quite  an  oration  on  M. 
Su bar's  good  looks  and  other  advantages. 
"  Pauline,  yoiT  are  born  to  be  lucky.  You  go 
ou  refusing  most  eligible  offers,  and  just  when 
one  fears  you  will  have  to  accept  the  crooked 
stick,  behold  the  lovely  young  prince,  a  real 
Fortunatus,  falls  at  your  feet  and  bestows  on 
you  all  that  woman's  heart  can  desire.  My 
dear,  I  cougratulate  you  with  all  my  heart. 
The  whole  town,  I  assure  you,  is  full  of  won- 
der and  delight.  You  really  are  an-  honor  to 
St.  Gloi ;  and  then,  how  happy  your  father 
and  mother  are.  It's  delightful ! "  Here 
another  look  at  the  colorless  face  with  the 
large  eyes  made  her  add,  "  Of  course,  you  are 
a  little  nervous.  One  always  is  after  pro- 
nouncing the  great '  yes.'     I  was  nervous  my- 


144  Jupiter's  DAUGnTERS. 

self,  so  I  can  understand  your  feelings.  I 
always  liken  marriage  to  deatli — though  it 
takes  us  into  a  better  world  it  frightens  us." 

And  so  on  rattled  Madame  Cliambaud,  tak- 
ing everytliing  for  granted,  reiterating  always, 
that  everybody  felt  alike  on  such  occasions, 
and  that  every  one  was  happier  afterwards  in 
proportion  to  their  previous  reluctance. 

Pauline  turned  away  from  the  proffered  em- 
brace, pra^nng  earnestly  for  patience.  Not 
from  any  Madame  Chambaud  could  she  have 
asked  help.  What  was  done  could  not  be  re- 
called, save  at  the  expense  of  a  public  scandal, 
wdiich  would  break  the  heart  of  her  parents. 
So  she  submitted. 

Leon  tried  the  patience  she  ])rayed  for  to 
the  utmost.  lie  was  a  terrible  lover.  De- 
monstrative to  a  degree  that  scandalized  all  the 
elderly  ladies  and  set  all  the  (51d  gentlemen 
grinning,  he  was  a  source  of  infinite  wonder 
and  interest  to  all  the  young  girls. 

Luckily  Pauline's  trial  was  shortened  by 
his  being  obliged  to  go  to  Paris  on  business. 
Before  his  departure,  however,  the  day  for  the 
marriage  was  fixed,  and  a  tour  to  the  Oberland 
planned  to  fill  up  the  time  while  their  hotel  in 
Paris  was  being  furnished. 

An  hotel  in  Paris  !  How  the  St.  Gloisians 
Ah^d,  and  CieVd,  and  Ma  foPd  ;  and  how 
they  repeated  those  significant  sounds  when 
the  Gorheille  presented  by  Leon  arrived. 
"  Diamonds  and  rubies  fit  for  a  queen  !  You 
might  set  up  a  jeweller's  shop,  ma  cherie  !  " 


THE    GREAT    "  YES.  145 

exclaimed  Madame  de  Saye,  almost  going 
down  on  her  knees  to  the  trinkets. 

Never  either  had  snch  a  tronssean  been  even 
imagined  in  St.  Gloi.  Madame  Rendu  had 
sent  for  everything  from  Paris.  Some  feeling 
made  her  lavish  in  all  that  money  could  buy 
for  Pauline. 

Madame  de  Saye  forced  her  husband  to 
write  an  account  of  the  marriage  to  M.  Vil- 
pont  de  Kergcac.  "  Remember,  darling,  to 
mention  that  the  bride's  dress  cost  five  thousand 
francs,  and  that  she  wore  a  profusion  of  dia- 
monds. Oh,  and  the  mayor's  speech  !  Do  put 
that  in." 

The  mayor  had  said  everything  possible  to 
be  said  in  praise  of  bridegroom,  bride,  and 
bride's  parents.     He  had  concluded  thus  : — 

"  Mesdames  et  Messieurs,  I  may  now  say, 
with  our  inimitable  Beranger,*  '  I  have  seen 
Peace  descend  npon  the  earth,  sowing  corn, 
flowers,  and  gold.'  " 

Many  elbows  had  met  significantly  at  this 
announcement. 

"  So  appropriate ! "  observed  Madame 
Chambaud. 


' '  J'ai  wx  la  Paix  descendre  sur  la  terre, 
Semant  de  Tor,  des  fleuxs,  et  des  epis." 
7 


PART    II 


CHAPTER  I. 

A    DOMESTIC    TEEASUKE. 

Leon  and  his  wife  travelling  to  Paris  on  a 
fine  October  day,  were  witliin  half-an-honr  of 
arrival  at  their  destination,  when  after  an  un- 
nsually  long  silence  he  said,  "  I  hope  yon  will 
be  pleased  with  yonr  new  home,  and  my 
arrangements  about  servants." 

"I  have  no  doubts  on  that  point,"  replied. 
Pauline ;  "  but  I  am  rather  frightened  at  the 
idea  of  havino;  to  manaire  Paris  servants.     I 
only   understand     St.    Gloi   ways    of    house- 
keeping." 

"  Ah  !  I  had  some  idea  you  would  not  know 
how  to  manage,  so  I  sent  for  my  foster  sister 
and  her  husband,  and  they  will  take  all 
trouble  off  3'our  hands.  Zelie  was  brought  up 
by  my  mother ;  she  can  do  anything  and 
everything,  and  has  such  pleasant  ways  ;  always 
cheerful  and  good-tempered — a  real  treasure." 

"  You  cannot  think  what  a  load  of  anxiety 
you  have  taken  from  me.  And  what  is 
Joseph,  her  husband  ;  coachman  or  footman  ? " 

"Oh!  Joseph  is  an  excellent  fellow,  honesty 
itself,  but  not  clever  like  Zelie  ;  in  fact,  rather 
limited  as  to  talent,  what  we  call  un  hon  sot. 


150  JUPITEe's   DAUGnTEES. 

But  lie  will  make  a  very  ^ood  major-domo 
mider  his  wife's  direction.  Between  them  you 
will  \\Q,ye  notliino;  to  do  but  amuse  yourself." 

"  How  kind  or  you  to  arrange  all  this,"  said 
Pauline,  feeling  really  grateful ;  "  1  wish  you 
had  told  mamma  ;  she  has  been  fretting  as  to 
how  I  should  get  on." 

Leon  did  not  speak  his  thoughts  when  he 
answered,  "  The  information  will  come  better 
from  you,  when  you  can  say  you  like  Zelie." 
Had  he  been  in  the  Palace  of  Truth  he  would 
have  said,  "  Your  mother,  my  dear,  would  have 
tilled  your  little  head  with  M^arnings  and  sus- 
picions, and  probably  would  have  gratified  me 
with  a  visit  fruitful  of  investio-ations." 

Notliins;    could    look    more  cheerful   to  a 

gjung  wife's  eye  than  her  new  home  did  to 
auline.  Great  gates  opened  on  a  court- 
yard, the  carriage-drive  was  round  a  small  lawn 
as  soft  as  velvet,  and  green  as  an  emerald, 
thanks  to  the  Jet  (Veau  throwing  constantly 
across  it  what  glistened  like  diamond  dust. 

On  each  side  of  the  double  flight  of  steps 
leading  to  the  perron  was  a  dazzle  of 
autunm  flowers  in  porcelain  vases.  A&  the 
carriage  drove  in,  a  man  ran  down  the  steps 
dressed  like  a  gentleman,  and  Pauline  sup- 
posed he  was  ^ovae,  friend  come  to  welcome 
them,  until  she  heard  her  husband  say,  "  How 
are  you,  Joseph  ?  "  Joseph  was  well,  and 
hoped  Madame  was  not  too  tired. 

A  tall  woman  waited  on  the  j'^erro??,  she 
made  a  graceful  curtsey  to  Madame  Subar,  who 


A   DOMESTIC   TREASURE.  151 

putting  ont  her  hand  said, "  M.  Snbar  has  been 
talking  to  me  of  his  good  foster  sister." 

Zelie  scarcely  touched  the  kind  little  hand. 

Leon's  greeting  of  Zelie  surprised  Pauline. 
"  Ell  !  Men  man  enfant  comment  cela  va-t-il,^^  ^ 
and  he  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks. 

"  Now  take  charge  of  madame,"  he  added, 
mth  an  odd  laugh.  Had  Madame  Kendu  heen 
present,  she  would  have  judged  that  Leon  was 
something  afraid  of  his  foster  sister. 

"  Madame  will  give  herself  the  trouble  to 
follow  me,"  said  Zelie ;  and  mistress  and  ser- 
vant went  up  the  wide  staircase,  the  last  first 
and  the  first  last.  "  Madame  I  hope  finds  her 
room  to  her  taste." 

"  It  is  beautiful !  how  could  I  help  liking  it. 
But  Zelie,  I  shall  call  you  Zelie  as  Leon  does, 
you  had  better  desire  Marie,  my  maid,  to  come 
up.     You  are  Madame  la  Gouvernante,  you 

know." 

"  Permit  me,  madame,  to  assist  you  to-day, 
always  if  you  please.  1  have  been  trained  to 
all  the  duties  of  a  lady's-maid." 

"  Well,  just  for  this  once  ;  but  poor  Marie 
would  not  like  to  be  put  on  one  side." 

Nothing  could  be  more  unexceptionable  than 
Zelie's  word»;,  nor  more  deft  than  her  services ; 
but  Pauline,  nevertheless,  longed  for  the  sight 
of  Marie's  broad  face,  and  the  help  given  by 
hands  that  touclied  her  always  respectfully  as 
well  as  with  kindliness. 

Zelie's  opinion  of  the  new  madame  was  not 
favorable.      She  said    afterwards  to  Joseph, 


152  Jupiter's  daughters. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  all  the  saints  did  he  see 
in  her,  to  make  him  many  her  ?  " 

"She  is  pretty,  like  a  white  dove,"  replied 
simple  Joseph. 

"  You  may  as  well  say  like  a  sheep  or  a 
■white  rabbit,  or  milk  or  any  white  thing  ;  but 
she  has  no  style,  no  figure  ;  there's  nothing  of 
her,  and  such  amiability  !  Zelie  this  and  Zelie 
that,  as  if  she  wanted  to  encourage  me," 

Joseph  shrugged  his  shoulders  pacifically, 
and  said  :  "  I  dare  say  she  means  well ;  better 
try  and  put  up  with  her.  She  will  let  you  do 
as  you  please," 

"  If  she  had  been  a  magnificent  creature, 
with  the  air  of  a  queen,"  went  on  Zelie,  un- 
heeding of  Joseph's  counsel,  "  I  could  have 
worshipped  her,  but  this  scrap  of  a  woman,  half 
a  woman,  I  call  her," 

"  Well,  well,  it  w^as  his  fancy,  and  she  is  not 
to  blame  for  that,  nor  her  smalluess  either,  and 
she  is  pretty,  poor  thing  !  " 

"  Joseph,  you  are  an  ass ;  enough  to  drive 
one  mad  with  your  way  of  being  satisfied  with 
everything,  I  tell  you  Leon  has  thrown  him- 
self away  ;  it  is  he  who  is  to  be  pitied," 

Zelie  was  no  beauty  herself.  She  was  a 
woman  of  thirty,  at  the  least,  of  a  dark  com- 
plexion, with  strange  eyes — eyes  the  color  of 
the  sea  when  it  is  neither  green  nor  blue,  but 
with  something  of  both  colors.  They  were  ex- 
pressive ej^es,  that  could  sparkle  fiercely  and 
darken  with  tenderness.  At  first  siijht  you 
called  her  plain,  but  no  one  kept  that  opinion 


A   DOMESTIC   TREASURE.  153 

long.  She  had  some  indefinable  attraction 
which  had  made  many  conquests.  AVhen  Leon 
was  twenty  he  was  desperately  in  love  with 
her,  and  would  have  married  her,  could  he 
have  gained  the  consent  of  his  parents.  How 
she  had  condescended  at  last  to  take  Joseph 
for  her  spouse,  does  not  enter  into  Pauline's 
history.  The  only  point  necessary  to  mention 
is,  that  she  had  obtained  a  promise  from  Leon 
that  she  and  Joseph  should  always  form  part 
of  his  household. 

By  the  end  of  November  the  Subars  were  in 
the  full  current  of  Paris  gayety.  Pauline  had 
her  box  at  the  Italiens^  her  share  of  one  at  the 
Grand  Opera — she  went  for  all  first  represen- 
tations— her  coupe  and  horses  were  perfect  of 
their  kind ;  and,  in  two  words,  she  lived  the 
life  of  a  rich  idle  woman,  as  did  Leon  that  of 
a  rich  idle  man. 

When  the  first  gloss  of  novelty  had  vanished, 
the  feelino-s  of  the  provincial  woman  began  to 
reassert  themselves.  N''est  pas  Parisienne, 
qui  veut,  and  Pauline  had  been  accustomed  to 
a  circle  of  intimates.  She  had  known,  by 
sight,  at  least,  every  creature  in  St.  Gloi;  their 
births,  deaths,  and  marriages  had  been  matters 
of  interest.  She  had  had  a  round  of  duties  to 
perform — she  had  known  herself  of  some 
importance  in  different  ways  to  her  neighbors. 
But  there  was  nothing  of  this  sort  to  give  zest 
to  her  life  in  Paris.  She  was  nothing  beyond 
a  drop  of  water  in  the  ocean. 

No  one  who  has  not  been  uprooted  from 


154  Jupiter's  daughters. 

among  familiar  faces,  scenes  and  occupations, 
all  gi'ijwn  into  a  part  of  one's  self,  can  sympa- 
thize with  Pauline's  growing  ennui  in  her  line 
liouse,  or  in  her  smart  carriage.  She  would 
have  willinnrly  resiicued  both  to  be  again  trott- 
ing  to  the  ouvrotr  along  the  ill-])avcd  streets 
of  St.  Gloi :  to  be  a";ain  cutting  out  shirts  and 
petticoats  to  the  accompaniment  or  a  small 
stream  of  local  gossip,  or  to  l^e  making  hon- 
hons  under  the  superintendence  of  the  old  god- 
motlier. 

Many  a  quiet  cry  she  had  over  old  days.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  gradually  stupe- 
fying, caring  for  nothing  and  nobody.  Some- 
thing in  her  letters  must  have  betrayed  her  de- 
pression to  lier  mother  and  Madame  Agnes  ; 
the  one  w'rote  recommending  her  to  be  active 
in  good  works,  and  vigilant  in  performing  her 
religious  duties, — the  other  urging  her  to 
keep  up  her  music  and  all  her  other  accom- 
plishments. "  You  appear,"  wrote  Madame 
JRendu,  "to  have  given  up  all  your  studies,  as 
though  your  education  had  cost  nothing." 

Leon,  who  read  all  his  wife's  letters,  here 
remarked,  "  I  thank  God  you  have  given  them 
up." 

Madame  Eendu  went  on :  "  You  do  not  seem 
to  me  to  order  your  life,  so  as  to  fulfil  grace- 
fully all  your  duties." 

iJ^on  stopjjcd  short — "  Ila !  You  go  regu- 
larly to  mass,  don't  you,  little  one  ;  and  to 
confession  and  all  that"  (he  never  did  him- 
self).    "  I  should  not  approve  of  any  neglect 


A    DOMESTIC   TREASURE.  155 

of  that  kind."  ho  added,  with  tlio  austere  air 
of  a  jud<::e.  '*  A  woman  without  religion  is 
not  pknisant  as  a  man's  wife." 

Paulino  said.  "  I  assure  yi>u.  Loon,  I  never 
ne2:le(.'t  any  reli<:;ious  duty.  Mannna  means,  I 
suppose,  that  I  clm't  practise  enough." 

"  I  Tang  the  piano,*"  said  Leon. 

"Or  perhaps  she  fancies  I  don't  attend  to 
the  h.nise  ;  she  thinks  I  ought  to  be  my  own. 
housekeeper." 

'*  But  you  prefer  to  have  Zelie,  don't  you  ? " 

'*  (~)h  '.'  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  with- 
out her ;  she  saves  me  even  the  trouble  of 
thinking  about  my  dress.'' 

"  Then  what  do  you  think  about  'i "  asked 
Leon,  with  sudden  curiosity. 

"  I  liave  not  much  time  for  thought,  have 
1 1  I  do  nothing,  and  yet  I  never  have  any 
time  to  spare." 

''  You'll  have  plenty  when  Lent  comes  ;  now 
sa/i.'^  adieu!  my  kitten.  I  have  an  appoint- 
nierit,  and  must  be  off." 

Leon  and  Paidine  ^vere  on  very  friendly 
terms,  but  the  ]ieriod  of  lively  demonstrations 
on  his  part  had  been,  and  was  gone,  l^ai'h'3 
Dioi  des  nei(jcs  (riiufan. 

Leon  still,  iis  a  rule,  breakfasted  with  his 
wife,  and  dined  at  home  when  they  had  no 
en^-aijomeut.  Put  in  other  respects  he^  was 
leading  what  the  French  call  /<r  n\'  Parhu'nn-e 
— tliat^  is,  he  was  caught  in  the  gear  of  a  mon- 
strous machine  which  grinds  to  du>r  the  souls 
and  hearts,  bodies  and  fortunes  -if  men. 


156  jcpiter's  daughters 

Leon  \ras  in  the  habit  of  boastino^  abont  his 
wife  ;  of  how  well  he  liad  managed  to  train 
her,  that  she  let  him  do  as  he  liked — never  in- 
terfering with  any  of  his  pleasures. 

Old  experienced  men  smiled  at  hh  naivete, 
while  congratulating  him  on  the  possession  of 
such  a  pearl.  They  accounted  for  Pauline's 
perfection  of  temper  as  arising  either  from  in- 
difference or  from  her  having  some  compensa- 
tion which  Leon  was  ignorant  of.  Difficult 
for  hardened  and  long-sighted  men  of  the 
world  to  be  charitable  in  their  judgments.  In 
short,  Pauline's  purity  and  childlike  unsus- 
piciousnf\s5  was  simply  incredible  to  those  who 
knew  slie  was  by  no  means  an  idiot. 

Zelie,  too,  who  saw  her  so  closely,  was  puz- 
zled, xllways  so  good,  as  if  she  could  not  see 
the  wickedness  all  round  her.  "Was  she  a 
hj'pocrite  or  a  saint  ?  The  perversities  of  poor 
human  nature  are  puzzling.  Why  did  Zelie, 
knowing  her  goodness,  hate  Pauline  ?  and 
hate  her  with  that  most  formidable  of  hatreds 
— a  gratuitous  hate  ? 

It  forces  one  to  believe  that,  as  love  exists 
of  itself,  so  does  hatred.  Love  ceases,  indeed, 
unless  fed  ;  but  hatred  feeds  on  itself  and 
thrives.     Love  often  dies  ;  hate,  alas  !  seldom. 

Leon  had  resumed  all  the  old  familiarity  of 
his  boyish  days  w^ith  Zelie,  and  had  asked 
Zelie  what  she  thought  of  his  wife. 

And  Zelie  had  tnade  him  understand  clearly 
enough,  that  she  saw  nothing  in  Pauline  to 
account  for  a  man  so  handsome  and  rich  hav- 


A    DOMESTIC    TREASURE.  157 

ing  niarriecl  her.  Leon,  stupid  enough  to  dis- 
cuss his  wife  with  her  servant,  was  naturally 
stupid  enough  to  be  influenced  l3y  the  servant's 
opinion.  Many  a  half-hour  he  now  spent  in 
the  housekeeper's  parlor,  listening  to  all  the 
gossip  and  scandal  Zelie  was  assiduous  in 
scraping  together  for  his  amusement.  Her 
highly  Sluiced  anecdotes  came  to  be  more  agree- 
able to  him  than  his  wife's  conversation,  lie 
be<2:an  himself  to  wonder  at  his  farmer  infatu- 
ation  about  Pauline. 

It  must  be  allowed  that  Madame  Leon  Subar 
■was  not  what  Mademoiselle  Pauline  Rendu 
had  been.  Madame  Subar  had  none  of  Pau- 
line's playfulness  ;  all  her  girlish  waywardness 
and  innocent  piquancy  had  disappeared.  She 
■was  perfectly  good  and  obedient,  but  not  un- 
like unrippled  water,  reflecting  serenely  every- 
thinc:,  and  havinof  no  individualit-y. 

Pauline  was  not  blind  to  Leon's  growmg  m- 
difference.  With  her  usual  tendency  to  self- 
depreciatiou,  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  am  no 
better  than  I  used  to  be — growing  worse,  I 
believe,  for  1  make  no  return  for  all  the 
pleasures  bestowed  on  me.  Do  all  people 
grow  tired  of  being  well  off,  of  having  no 
troubles  ? " 

Pauline  had  not  yet  come  to  understand  that 
the  greatest  of  all  troubles  is  an  empty  heart. 


158  Jupiter's  daughteks. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Stephanie's  discoveries. 

At  this  moment  all  the  energies  of  the 
upper  world  of  Paris  were  concentrated  on 
canvassino-  for  seats  at  the  "  Deux  Etoiles  " 
Theatre,  for  the  first  representation  of  a  new 
play  by  Alberic  Vilpont.  Ministers,  ambassa- 
dors, the  press,  actors,  actresses,  and  above  all, 
the  author  himself,  were  attacked  with  every 
possible  weapon.  Husbands  were  snubbed  or 
coaxed  ;  those  who  failed  in  their  exertions 
were  ill-used  and  trampled  on.  Wearied-out 
managers  and  box-keepers  swore  in  vain  tliat 
every  seat  in  the  house  had  been  secured  for 
the  first  ten  nights  Ijefore  even  an  announce- 
ment of  tlie  performance  had  appeared.  There 
was  one  exception  to  this  furore  of  curiosity 
— Pauline  had  not  spoken  to  Leon  on  the  sub- 
ject. She  was  not  quite  sure  that  she  wished 
to  see  the  play,  or  that  it  would  be  right  in  her 
to  have  such  a  wish.  Her  conscientiousness 
was  perhaps  exaggerated,  but  she  desired  to 
avoid  having  thoughts  she  would  not  willingly 
im])art  to  her  husband — disloyalty  was  of  all 
things  that  she  most  dreaded  and  scorned. 
On  the  very  morning  of  the  day  of  the  first 
representation  of  "  Un  bon  Mariage,"  Madame 
de  Saye  rushed  into  the  dining-room  where 
the  Subars  were  at  breakfast. 


Stephanie's  discoveries.  159 

Giving  Pauline  a  hasty  kiss,  Stephanie  seat- 
ed lierself  by  M.  Subar,  saying,  "  How  hicky 
to  find  you  at  table ;  I  am  dying  of  hunger ! 
Gaston  has  gone  to  M.  Yilpont — we  want 
places  for  to-night.  After  our  coming  all  this 
way  on  purpose  for  his  play  he  cannot  refuse 
us,  and  such  an  old  friend,  too,  as  Gaston.  It 
is  to  be  quite  an  event." 

"  I  doubt  if  even  M.  Yilpont  can  give  you 
Beats.  I  have  only  been  able  to  secure  one 
stall  for  myself,"  returned  Leon,  not  quite 
pleased  at  being  thus  taken  by  storm. 

M.  Subar  was  one  of  those  unfortunates  who 
can  never  have  intimates — he  was  too  fond  of 
display  to  be  friendly.  He  understood  by 
hospitality  overwhelmingly  grand  dinners.  He 
shrank  from  anything  like  the  familiarity  which 
says,  "  Oh  !  come  in,  and  take  what  is  going." 

Stephanie,  who,  to  do  her  justice,  cared  little 
how  she  appeased  her  hunger,  went  on,  turning 
to  Pauline :  "  If  I  had  been  you,  I  would  have 
written  at  once  to  M.  Yilpont.  He  would 
never  have  refused  you  anything."  Then  with 
still  happier  tact  she  added,  "  You  would  not 
have  been  jealous,  would  you,  M.  Subar?" 

Leon  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  gaped, 

"  I  am  not,"  continued  the  chatterbox, 
"though  ]\I.  de  Saye  did  make  an  offer  to 
Pauline  before  he  proposed  to  me." 

"  AYhy,  what  can  this  M.  Yilpont  have  to  do 
with  Madame  Subar  or  with  me  \ "  asked  Leon, 
with  a  high  and  mighty  air,  which  made  Ste- 
phanie laugh. 


160  JUPITEK  S    DAUGHTERS. 

"  Oh !  m}^  dear  sir,  don't  be  offended :  the 
gentleman  we  call  M.  Yilpont  is  reall)^  the 
Vicomte  de  Kerp:eac,  and  will  be  a  marquis 
some  da}'.  Is  his  nncle  dead  ?  "  she  added, 
turning  to  Pauline. 

"•'  I  have  heard  nothing  about  M.  Yilpont 
since  he  left  St.  Gloi,"  replied  Pauline. 

"  I  suppose  he  is  offended  with  you,"  re- 
marked Stephanie. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ? "  asked 
Leon. 

"  I  had  always  l)elieved,"  said  Pauline  with 
a  gravity  that  suppressed  Stephanie  for  the 
time,  "  it  was  scarcely  honorable  to  tell  such 
things ;  but  the  matter  is  simple  enough,  Leon 
— M.  Yilpont  honored  me  by  a  proposal  of 
marriage,  which  my  father  declined." 

"  Why,  if  he  is  really  a  man  of  rank." 

"  That,  I  fancy,  was  one  of  the  reasons  ;  my  , 
mother  thought  it  might  separate  me  from  my 
own  relations.     But  indeed,  Leon,  I  know  very 
little  about  the  matter,  as  I  was  not  consulted." 

"  And  if  you  had  been  ?  " 

"I  should  have  done  as  my  parents  ad- 
vised." 

"  I  see  I  had  better  have  held  my  tongue," 
said  Stephanie. 

"  I  think  so,"  answered  Pauline  calmly. 

"  I  tell  Gaston  everything — everything ;  so 
I  thought,  of  course,  you  did  the  same." 

"  Pauline  is  not  so  frank,  as  you  may  per- 
ceive," said  Leon  sulkily. 

It  was  not  (jnite  true  that  Stephanie  bore  no 


stepu/Vnie's  discoveries.  161 

grudge  to  Pauline  on  account  of  the  offer  M. 
cle  Save  liad  made  her :  but  thouMi  she  had 
many  petty  feelings,  Madame  de  Saye  was  not 
really  ill-intentioned ;  so  now  she  set  to  work 
to  put  Leon  into  good-humor  again.  She  had 
one  decided  talent,  that  of  coaxing ;  and  so, 
what  with  her  prettiness,  her  little  Hattering, 
and  her  silliness,  Leon's  brow  lost  its  ruffle,  and 
his  pouting  lips  were  once  more  able  to  smile 
when  Gaston  came  in. 

"  Have  you  got  places  ?  "  shrieked  Stephanie, 
flying  to  him. 

"  I  am  starving,  my  dear." 

"  Answer  first,"  went  on  Stephanie.  "  Now 
don't  tease  ;  you  know  I  hate  to  be  kept  in 
suspense."  All  the  time  her  fingers  were  busy 
diving  into  his  waistcoat  and  coat  pockets,  he 
standing  still,  as  if  he  liked  the  process. 
i  "  I  declare  I  believe  you  have  not  got  any. 
It's  very  ill-natured  of  M.  Vilpont,  after  all 
the  kindness  he  received  at  St.  Gloi ;  "  and  Ste- 
phanie sat  down  ready  to  ciy. 

Iler  husband,  now  at  liberty,  made  his  salu- 
tations to  M.  and  Mme.  Subar,  and  took  the 
offered  seat  at  table. 

"  Pauline  has  got  no  place  either,"  observed 
Stephanie. 

"  I  am  happy  we  have  it  in  our  power  to 
rectify  that  misfortune — there,  you  spiteful  lit- 
tle puss,"  and  Gaston  threw  the  coui)oii  of  a 
box  into  her  lap. 

She  exclaimed,  "  Only  think !  an  avant 
scene,  close  to  the  stage.     We  shall  be  as  well 


162  Jupiter's  daughters. 

placed  as  anv  princess.  I  never  did  have  an 
avant  scene,  even  when  I  was  tirst  married." 

"  I  shall  keep  to  ray  stall,"  said  Leon,  with  a 
dignity  lost  on  liis  audience. 

It  was  a  matter  of  course  that  the  De  Sayes 
should  be  invited  to  dinner,  which  Leon  re- 
solved should  be  one  the  provincials  could  not 
easily  forget. 

Being  in  high  good-hnmor,  Stephanie  went 
into  raptures  over  the  house  and  furniture,  and 
said  so  often,  "  O  you  lucky  girl,  Pauline ! 
what  could  you  wish  for  more  i "  that  Leon  re- 
marked afterwards  (what  liad  never  before 
been  said  of  Stephanie)  that  Madame  de  Saye 
was  really  a  clever  woman. 

"  I  have  set  evervthinof  to  riorhts,  haven't  I, 
Pauline  ? "  asked  Stephanie,  as  soon  as  they 
had  been  left  tete-d-tete.  She  was  standing  in 
front  of  a  mirror  as  she  said  this. 

"  What  was  there  to  set  to  rights  ? " 

"  O  Pauline  !  are  vou  blind  ? — mv  hair." 

"  It's  as  smooth  as  glass." 

"  And  my  paniers,  are  they  straight  ?  I 
have  not  been  near  a  glass  till  now  since  we 
arrived." 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  come  out  of  a  band- 
box." 

Stephanie  left  the  mirror,  and  suddenly 
throwing  her  arms  round  Pauline,  wliispered, 
as  she  held  her  in  a  tight  embrace,  "  Take  care 
what  you  say,  some  one  is  listening."  Witli- 
out  waiting  for  any  reply,  she  then  dashed  into 
discussions  of  the  fashions,  wondering  whether 


Stephanie's  discoveries.  163 

covering  her  forehead  with  little  curls,  or  friz- 
zing her  liair  into  a  shapeless  confusion,  would 
become  her  best. 

"  You  have  told  me  nothing  about  my  god- 
son," said  Pauline. 

"How  easily  one  forgets,"  laughed  Ste- 
phanie. "I  do  not  mean,  my  boy,  but  tliat 
there  ever  was  a  time  when  I  was  not  married. 
Strange  enough,  but  quite  true.  Oh  !  Bebe  is 
a  handsome,  beautiful  boy,  and  he  is  beginning 
to  talk  ;  Gaston  cannot  make  out  what  lie  says, 
but  I  always  can.  He  calls  his  papa  Bob,  be- 
cause he  hears  him  calling  to  his  dog — I3ob. 
Mamma  is  taking  care  of  Bebe.  She'did  not 
like  Gaston  coming  to  Paris  without  me. 
Don't  you  wish  you  had  a  Bebe  too — a  girl 
would  suit  you  best,  and  then  our  children 
could  marry." 

"  If  ever  I  have  children,  they  shall  choose 
for  themselves,"  said  Pauline. 

"Mine  shall  not,"  retorted  Stephanie  stoutly. 
"  No,  I  shall  stick  to  the  good  old  rules." 

"  Have  you  no  shopping  to  do ;  nowhere  you 
would  wish  to  go  ? "  asked  Pauline,  in  order  to 
change  the  subject. 

"  1  have  heaps  of  commissions  for  mamma  ; 
but  if  I  shop  in  your  fine  carriage,  I  shall  have 
to  pay  double.    Let  us  go  by  and  by  to  the  Bois." 

During  the  drive  Stephanie  said,  "  You  re- 
member what  I  said  to  you  about  ray  hair; 
that  was  all  a  ruse.  You  must  be  on  your 
guard,  Pauline ;  that  brown  woman  is  a  spy. 
I  would  send  her  away  as  soon  as  possible." 


164  Jupiter's  daugiitees. 

"  My  dear  Stephanie,  are  you  dreaming  ? " 

"  On  the  contrary,  quite  awake.  I  know  I 
never  was  so  clever  as  you  and  Julie,  but  I 
have  very  good  eyes." 

"  What  have  you  seen  ? " 

"  I  turned  off  what  I  was  going  to  say,  ask- 
ing you  about  my  hair,  because  I  caught  sight  of 
that  woman  behind  tlie  door.  I  saw  her  in  the 
glass  as  distinctly  as  I  now  see  you.  She  was 
still  there  when  I  sat  down  by  you  on  the  sofa." 

"  Zelie  is  quite  above  such  conduct ;  and 
why  should  she  listen  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  indeed.  As  for  her  being 
above  it,  that's  absurd ;  all  servants  are  spies. 
I  would  not  have  her  in  the  house  a  day  ;  she 
blinks  her  eyes  like  a  cat." 

"  As  for  sending  her  away,  I  should  need  a 
ver}^  good  reason.  She  is  Leon's  foster-sister, 
and  he  is  very  much  attached  to  her." 

"  That  would  be  reason  enouo-h  for  me. 
"Why  don't  you  ask  your  mother  to  interfere  'i " 

"I  will  never  ask  mamma  to  come  between 
me  and  my  husband,  and  for  what,  very  likely, 
is  a  mistake  of  yours." 

"  Very  well ;  I  felt  it  was  my  duty  to  warn 
you.  I)on't  blame  me  if  yellow-face  steals 
your  diamonds  or  murders  you  one  of  these 
days  ;  it  would  not  astonish  me." 

"  It  would  me,"  said  Pauline,  laughing. 

Nevertheless  Pauline,  while  dressing  for  the 
evening,  did  take  more  notice  than  usual  of 
Zelie's  ways.  Hitherto  she  had  rather  tried  to 
like  Lc(jn's  foster-sister  than,  really  done  so. 


STEPII.i:s'IE's    DISCOVERIES.  1G5 

She  now  admitted  to  herself  that  tlie  manners 
and  looks  of  her  lady's-maid  were  unpleasant 
and  distasteful.  She  shni^ged  her  shoulders 
far  too  familiarly  when  Paulino  refused  to 
cold-cream  and  powder  her  face. 

"Madame  will  look  swarthy  in  the  light  of 
the  theatre.  It  is  alwavs  most  unbecoming;  to 
blondes.  Madame  ought  to  wish  to  do  honor 
to  monsieur." 

"  My  good  Zelie,  if  monsieur  chose  me  as  I 
am,  is  it  not  honoring  him  to  keep  ■  the  same 
face  ? " 

"  As  madame  pleases." 

Leon  tapped  at  the  door,  and  on  Zelie  open- 
ing it,  said,  "  Tell  my  wife  she  must  wear  her 
diamonds.  It  is  a  first  representation,  and  all 
the  women  will  be  in  gala." 

"  J3ut  if  Stephanie  has  not  brought  hers,  she 
will  not  like  my  wearing  mine,"  remonstrated 
Pauline. 

"  What's  that  to  you  ?  Here,  Zelie,  bring 
me  the  box.  I  shall  show  that  Monsieur  Chose* 
you  have  something  more  than  his  empty  title. 
He  is  as  poor  as  a  rat — De  Saye  told  me  so  ; 
lives  by  his  wits,  poor  devil !  " 

Leon  took  the  jewels  out  of  their  cases, 
spreading  them  out  lovingly  on  the  toilet- 
table,  lie  chose  a  riviere,  bracelets,  earrings, 
and  a  sort  of  semi-circlet  for  the  head. 

"  Xot  that,"  said  Pauline  ;  "  it  always  makes 
mv  head  ache." 

*  Thing- — as  common  an  expression  in  France  as  Thing 
a  meevi  Encrland. 


166  Jupiter's  dadgiiteks. 

"  That's  nonsense,"  said  Leon.  "  However, 
I  will  be  satisfied  with  tlie  butterfly ;  put  it 
where  it  will  be  well  seen,  Zelie." 

"  I  suppose  I  may  lend  these  two  little  stars 
to  Stephanie  ? "  asked  Pauline. 

"  Tell  her  to  take  care  of  them,"  said  Leon, 

When  the  diamonds  were  all  placed,  Leon 
said,  "  Now"  give  me  a  kiss,  such  pretty  things 
are  worth  more  than  that.  How  pale  you 
are,"  he  added. 

"  I  have  already  made  that  observation  to 
madame,"  said  Zelie. 

"  You  should  let  Zelie  put  a  touch  of  rouge 
under  your  eyes,"  said  Leon. 

"  1  shall  have  color  enough  in  that  hot  thea- 
tre," said  Pauline. 

She  carried  the  diamond  stars  to  Stephanie, 
saying,  "  You  must  wear  these  to  keep  me  in. 
countenance." 

"  With  the  best  will  in  the  world,"  was  the 
answer.  "  O,  Pauline,  what  a  lucky  girl  you 
are ! "  an  observation  made  for  at  least  the 
tenth  time  that  day.  "  If  only  some  of  our 
own  set  from  St.  Gloi  could  see  us,  I  should 
not  have  anything  left  to  wish  for.  I  never 
was  so  happy  in  my  life." 

It  was  so  pleasant  to  witness  Stephanie's  de- 
light, that  the  three  others  petted  and  admired 
her  as  though  she  had  done  some  good  deed. 
There  was  evidently  a  virtue  in  her  pleasure 
by  the  friendly  feeling  it  diffused  among 
them. 

"  What  a  number  of  carriages  !  "  exclaimed 


Stephanie's  discoveries.  167 

the  little  woman  as  tliey  came  near  the  thea- 
tre ;  and  she  pinched  her  husband's  arm  till  he 
cried  out  for  mercy. 

But  in  Paris  j3eople  of  all  ranks  behave  de- 
cently in  a  crowd.  They  do  not  hit  out  or 
jostle  women  to  get  one  minute  sooner  to  their 
places.  So  M.  de  Saye  conducted  his  two 
companions  to  their  box  without  any  ruffle  to 
their  hair  or  their  dress. 

Leon  went  to  his  stall,  because  he  had  said 
he  would,  and  repented  at  leisure  of  his  haste 
in  speech. 


168  jupitek's  daughters. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

A    FKENCH    PLAY. 

The  house  was  crammed  to  the  roof — the 
very  galleries  filled  by  men  of  talent  and  edu- 
cation, 

"  I  wonder  where  M.  Yilpont  is?  "  exclaimed 
Madame  de  Save,  using  her  opei-a-glass  ener- 
getically. "  Hid  away  in  some  corner.  I  did 
not  tell  you  before,  but  we  have  got  his  box. 
If  the  piece  is  successfnl,  he  will  be  called 
for." 

Pauline  sat  in  one  corner,  slieltered  by  a 
curtain.  Her  heart  was  beating  in  a  way  she 
could  not  understand,  as  if  slie  had  been  tlie 
author  of  the  pUiy  herself  She  might  have 
said  or  sung  with  Zerlina,  "  Vorrei  e  non 
vorreiP  She  wished,  and  did  not  wish,  to  see 
M.  Vilpont. 

The  curtain  rose,  and  in  an  instant  there 
was  a  general  hush  of  expectation. 

It  was  the  first  representation  of  a  great 
comedy.  "Whatever  else  decayed,  the  stage 
flourished  under  Xapoleon.  Augier,  Feuillet, 
and  Sardou,  wrote  as  no  French  authors  have 
written  since  Moliere,  and  Vilpont  was.  ac- 
knowledged as  their  equal.  The  corruption  of 
society  afforded  the  playwright  ample  matter 
for  scathing  satire  ;  the  taste  for  sensuous  fairy 
pieces  and  coarse  buffooneries  concentrated  the 


A    FRENCH    PLAY.  iG9 

few  good  actors  tlie  age  could  produce  in 
one  or  two  theatres.  The  system  of  election 
at  the  Fran^ais,  though  tani]iercd  with  hy  tlie 
Court,  still  culled  the  verj^  llower  of  the  talent 
of  France ;  the  prevalent  luxury  allowed  the 
actresses  to  rival  the  great  ladies  of  the  Court 
in  the  mao^nificence  of  their  dress :  the  Ions: 
practice  of  the  audience,  who  had  seen  plays 
from  their  childhood,  and  their  utter  want  of 
faith  in  anything  (even  in  the  "  Ma  Mere," 
which  used  to  bring  down  the  house),  kept  the 
actor  and  author  from  leaving,  by  one  hair's- 
breadth,  the  path  of  true  feeling  for  the  se- 
ductive bogs  of  exao;o;eration  or  maudlin  senti- 
ment ;  while  admission  to  the  Academy,  the 
highest  distinction  a  literary  Frenchman  can 
gain,  was  only  to  be  earned  by  the  jdaywright 
if  his  style  could  bear  cold-blooded  criticism 
applied  in  the  closet  by  trained  anatomists 
who  enjoyed  vivisection.  J\o  actor,  no  actress, 
however  popular,  was  safe  from  that  malignant 
howl  of  derision  which  greets  a  failure  in  tone, 
expression,  or  gesture,  and  which  makes  an 
Englishman's  blood  boil,  however  fully,  as  a 
critic,  he  may  agree  with  the  disapprobation 
so  brutally  expressed. 

Owing  to  these  causes,  Pauline  saw  what 
few  men  or  women  out  of  Paris  ever  saw — a 
great  play  perfectly  acted. 

The  subject  of   the  play  was  "Marriage." 

In  a  few  scenes  Yilpont  presented  many  of 

the  views  held  in  France  concerning  this  much- 

betalked  institution.     There  was  the  ingenue 

8 


170  Jupiter's  daughters. 

— pure,  iia'ive,  ignorant,  inclined  in  a  feeble 
way  to  fall  in  love  with  the  good  joung  man, 
but  ratJier  likely  also  to  fall  an  easy  victim  to 
the  practised  Toue.  The  girl  was  full  of 
pretty  little  aspirations,  with  a  perfume  of 
daisies  and  hay  about  them,  but  was  also 
keenly  alive  to  the  anticipated  pleasures  of 
the  JJois,  the  opera,  and  the  ball-room.  Her 
dress  was  simplicity  itself,  her  eyes  all  can- 
dor, her  voice  artless ;  and  yet  you  felt  that 
she  too,  if  married  to  the  wrong  rich  man, 
would  develop  into  a  splendid  creature  very 
like  the  true  heroine  of  the  play,  the  married 
woman  of  ten  years'  standing.  Row  beautiful 
she  was !  With  what  exquisite  grace  the  fall 
form  and  haughty  figure  lounged  on  the 
stage,  wreathed  in  the  richest  silks,  the  most 
costly  lace  !  How  every  murmur  of  the  low 
voice  told  of  passion,  a  passion  beyond  silks 
and  lace,  the  passion  of  French  flesh  and 
blood. 

Then  there  was  the  old  woman — past  passion 
for  aught  but  herself,  loving  even  her  children 
only  for  herself,  admiring  the  ingenuous  girl 
with  a  real  belief  that  innocence  was  quite 
right  at  seventeen,  but  not  a  thing  to  be  much 
wished  for  afterwards,  especially  as  repentance 
could  be  made  very  pleasant  at  fifty,  with  the 
aid  of  a  roue  marquis  and  a  fashionable  abbe. 

Then  the  men.  There  was  the  good  young 
man — an  engineer,  very  wise,  very  gentle,  not 
too  poor,  who  said  the  prettiest  things  about 
love  and  virtue,  but  was  in  sad  danger  when 


A   FRENCH    PLAY.  171 

left  much  alone  with  the  practised  coquette  of 
thirty.  Without  this  foible  the  audience 
could  not  have  stood  him.  Then  there  was 
the  true  hero,  the  ^^  grand  premier,^'  madly  in 
love  with  the  married  woman,  and  bound  by 
every  tie  of  honor  and  affection  to  her  hus- 
band, lie  had  been  terribly  wicked,  and  was 
destined  for  the  ingenue  ;  but  such  a  marriage 
the  audience  felt  would  end  in  her  destruc- 
tion, and  in  his  sinking  to  still  more  awful 
gulfs  of  vice.  His  only  chance  of  good  con- 
duct in  this  world,  and  salvation  in  the  next, 
lay  in  running  away  with  his  friend's  wife,  if 
this  could  be'  done  with  propriety,  and  here 
was  the  crux  of  the  play. 

Then  we  had  the  old  philosopher — poor, 
gray-headed,  wild-eyed;  a  republican,  pur 
sang,  incapable  of  baseness,  who  disbelieved  in 
marriage  altogether,  but  was  the  only  man  in 
the  play  free  from  vice,  only  he  had  been 
venal  in  his  day,  having  sold  his  pen,  and  now, 
aspiring  philosophically  towards  a  virtue  of 
his  own,  which  hap])ened  to  be  incompatible 
with  venality,  he  did  not  like  the  conse- 
quences. 

Now  for  the  husband — rich,  addicted 
to  the  clul),  the  bourse,  and  quiet,  but 
expensive,  intidelity.  His  general  unpleasant- 
ness was  redeemed  only  by  courtesy  and  liber- 
ality to  his  wife,  and  real  kindness  to  her 
would-be  seducer;  he  despised  the  phil- 
osopher, and  made  use  of  him.  Next  the 
roue    marquis,  no   better   than   the  rest,  but 


172  Jupiter's  daughters. 

able  to  say  very  witty  things,  pointing  out  the 
advantages  of  outward  decency  and  good 
manners  over  tlie  impudent,  bad  manners  of 
the  'parvenus ;  add  a  creature  in  black  stand- 
ing for  a  pi-iest,  although  the  "  Censure'''' 
would  not  let  liim  be  called  one,  and  you  have 
the  dramatis  jyersoncp,. 

Was  the  pure-hearted  child  to  become  the 
worldly  woman?  Was  the  little  flicker  of 
true  love  to  be  fed  with  wholesome  fuel  until 
it  should  burn  clear  on  a  happy  hearth,  sur- 
rounded by  loved  children  and  an  honored 
husband?  Or  was  a  cruel  system  to  quench 
this  flame,  leaving  only  a  smouldering  spark 
hereafter  to  burst  out  in  a  conflagration  of 
passion  such  as  was  consuming  that  other 
glorious  cieature,  by  Mdiose  side  the  gentle 
woes  of  the  little  ingenue  paled  into  insignifi- 
cance? How  that  poor  married  woman  of 
thirt}'  wound  herself  into  your  heart  as  you 
gazed  on  the  scene  !  AVere  not  her  faults,  her 
extravagance,  her  love  of  admiration,  her  love 
of  men's  love,  the  faults  of  society  ?  Were 
not  her  merits,  her  passionate  heart,  her  con- 
tempt for  the  finery  around  her,  her  longing 
for  real  life,  real  duties,  all  her  own?  How 
could  she  love  that  husband  ?  How  could  so 
ardent  a  being  live  without  love?  And  yet 
she  clung  to  dutj',  and,  in  defiance  of  nature, 
of  sin  all  round  her,  of  a  husband's  infidelity, 
she  v)oulrl  remain  pure  and  true,  if  only  the 
temptation  did  not  become  too  strong.  So 
passionate,  so  natural  was  the  love  she  felt, 


A    FRENCH    PLAY.  173 

that  the  audience  trembled  as  they  saw  her 
tempest-tossed,  hardly  knowing  whether  they 
wished  her  to  yield  or  to  be  true — to  be  true 
to  her  vows  or  to  nature. 

But  there  stood  the  elder  woman.  She  had 
yielded,  had  been  true  to  nature  once  in  her 
life,  and  a  terrible  beacon  she  was,  warning 
womankind  from  the  lie  that  looked  like 
truth.  In  days  gone  by  she  had  succumbed 
to  passion,  and,  as  the  world  counts,  had  lost 
nothing.  She  was  honored  and  rich,  but  she 
had  lost  what  neither  honor  nor  riches  can  give 
— she  had  lost  all  faith  in  truth  and  goodness ; 
she  believed  nothing,  hoped  nothing,  forgave 
nothing.  Her  husband  had  been  to  her  a 
species  of  necest^ary  disease  somewhat  analo- 
gous to  vaccination.  The  lover  of  her  youth 
had  convinced  her  that  the  ideal  man,  when 
he  proffered  love,  meant  to  consume  a  woman 
as  he  would  a  partridge  ;  that  the  devotion  of 
man  to  woman  was  a  mere  bait  to  lui-e  the 
victim.  Her  own  heart  said  that  woman  was 
no  better  than  man  ;  and  the  one  law  left  her 
was  to  seek  her  own  interest  with  prudence, 
the  onlv  ditHcultv  beinn-  to  lind  anythino:  re- 
maining  in  the  world  that  could  give  her  grati- 
fication. The  one  thing  she  was  sure  of  was 
that  her  own  edu(;ation  had  been  perfect,  and 
the  system  which  had  produced  her  the  best 
possible.  Unfortunately,  the  dead  sins  of  her 
youth  had  left  ghosts,  which  most  inconveni- 
ently interfered  with  her  present  ease. 

Round  this  nice  set  the  marquis  and  the 


174  Jupiter's  DAuanTERS. 

philosopher  hovered  complacently,  helping  the 
drama  forward,  and  stating  the  views  of  the 
old  reghne  and  coming  commune  on  the  act- 
ual state  of  social  relations  in  France. 

This  is  the  dry  anah'sis  of  a  somewhat  nn- 
friendly  critic ;  but  had  you  been  there, 
reader,  you  would  have  done  what  the  audi- 
ence did.  The  tears  would  have  stood  in  your 
eyes  at  the  spectacle  of  the  gentle  girl,  so  un- 
conscious of  her  peril  on  the  edge  of  the  terri- 
ble vortex,  whirling  the  main  protagonists  to 
death  and  misery.  In  breathless  suspense  you 
would  have  hung  on  every  passionate  word  of 
that  poor  man  and  woman — now  lost,  now 
saved,  now  lost.  The  commonplace  husband, 
by  dint  of  sheer  reality,  would  have  wrung 
your  heart.  Why  should  he  suffer  so,  merely 
because  he  was  commonplace  ?  Your  heart 
would  have  burned  with  wrath  at  the  witty 
egotism  of  the  old  woman  and  her  marquis ; 
you  would  have  believed  for  a  moment  the 
wild  theories  of  the  philosopher;  anything 
would  have  seemed  better  to  you  than  a  sys- 
tem which  produced  such  ills.  "When  the  play 
began,  you  would  have  laughed  till  the  tears 
ran  down  your  cheeks  at  the  humor  with 
which  each  character  displayed  its  foibles ; 
and  at  the  end,  you  would  have  foi-gotten 
theories,  characters,  actors,  audience,  your 
friends,  your  tears,  your  very  existence,  in 
breathless  agony  at  the  misery  you  saw  and 
could  not  help.  Then  you  would  have  shouted 
and  clapped  and  stamped,  and  stood  up  and 


A   FRENCH    PLAT.  175 

roared  for  Vilpont,  as  though  he  had  been  a 
demigod  who  had  saved  mankind  by  satire, 
instead  of  a  man  with  no  reform  to  suggest, 
who  lashed  with  dexterous  whip  a  little  sec- 
tion of  the  dumb  abstraction  called  society. 

The  audience  did  all  this,  and  with  dry 
mouths  and  still  Avet  eyes,  as  they  went 
home  basked  in  the  self-approving  glow  they 
felt  at  having  so  thoroughly  sympathized  in  all 
the  good  sentiments  and  execi-ated  all  tlie  bad 
feelings.  They  had  exercised  the  best  part  of 
their  natures  at  the  cost  of  a  few  francs,  and 
next  day  they  were  no  more  disposed  to  alter 
their  practice  than  the  coldest  British  audience 
that  ever  smiled  a  dignified  approval  at  stale 
platitudes  about  the  sin  of  loving  money  and 
worshipping  the  aristocracy.  Pauline  saw  it 
all,  and  saw  how  far  she  had  come  upon  the 
path. 


176  Jupiter's  daughters, 

CHAPTER  IV. 

PAINFUL    REALITIES. 

All  in  vain  did  Pauline  say  to  herself  that 
M.  Vilpont  had  used  the  lash,  not  against  any- 
individual  case,  but  against  the  general  custom 
as  to  marriage  in  France.  After  all,  was  it 
very  sure  that  any  better  way  could  be  devised  ? 
Was  it  not  constantly  said  that  there  were 
as  many  ill-assorted  couples  in  those  countries 
where  love-matches  were  the  rule?  All  her 
arguments  were  impotent;  she  was  wounded 
— sorely  wounded. 

For  nine  days  the  subject  of  the  play  was 
discussed  in  every  salon  and  in  every  newspa- 
per. The  question  of  marriage  was  handled 
poetically,  philosophically,  and  practically; 
from  men's  point  of  view,  from  that  of  young 
women  and  middle-ao-ed  women.  The  old 
contented  themselves  with  a  smile,  accompa- 
nied by  a  mysterious  shake  of  the  head  ;  they 
had  given  up  the  problem  long  ago.  The  mo- 
thers were  to  a  woman  in  favor  of  the  old  cus- 
tom. The  play  and  the  discussions  were  both 
withheld  from  young  girls. 

At  the  end  of  m'ne  days  came  a  scrawl  from 
Stephanie,  to  which  there  was  this  P.  8. — 

"  I  saw  your  friend  M.  Yilpont  before  we 
left  Paris,  and  I  gave  him  a  good  scolding  for 
not  having  been  to  call  on  you.     I  told  him 


PAINFUL   REALITIES.  177 

you  would  like  to  sec  him  ;  because  I  know 
you  would,  thougii  you  did  not  tell  me  so." 

This  news  caused  Pauline  no  little  anxiety. 
She  lirst  wondered  if  Vilpont  would  come — 
she  hoped  he  would  not ;  it  would  bo  awkward. 
It  was  five  years  since  that  memorable  day  in 
the  vinej'ard — five  years !  Time  enough  to 
have  had  another  deluge  and  repeopling  of 
the  world  ;  but  Pauline  was  inexperienced, 
and  had  not  mastered  the  fact  that  she  was 
not  the  same  person  she  had  been  at  nineteen, 
and  ergo^  M.  Vilpont  would  probably  meet  her 
with  amiable  indifference.  It  is  always  with 
difliculty  that  the  humblest-minded  woman  is 
persuaded  that  the  man  who  may  once  have 
been  in  love  with  her  can  see  her  again  with 
perfect  tranquillity. 

Vilpont  had,  truth  to  say,  placed  the  very 
real  preference  he  had  felt  for  Pauline  among 
other  of  his  experiences  of  life.  lie  had  even, 
according  to  the  wont  of  poets,  embodied  the 
episode  of  Vignes  Ste.  Marie  in  a  Hermann  and 
Dorothea  idyl,  which  had  a  splendid  success, 
and  had  been  charmingly  recited  by  Sarah 
Bernhardt. 

Until  the  De  Sayes  had  spoken  to  him  of 
Madame  Subar,  Vilpont  had  not  thought  of 
her  for  years.  This  new  play  M-as  undoubted- 
ly founded  on  fact ;  but  no  recollections  of 
Madame  Pendu  or  her  daughter  had  sharpened 
his  pen. 

As  soon,  however,  as  the  once  familiar  name 
was  pronounced,  Pauline's  image  started  from 
8* 


178  Jupiter's  daugiiteks. 

one  of  memory's  cells.  The  pretty,  girlish 
figure,  with  its  coronet  of  bright  hair,  rose  be- 
fore him  ;  the  large  eyes  met  his  with  a  sweet 
welcome,  while  the  lips  kept  their  gravity. 
He  closed  his  eyes  for  a  second  to  banish  the 
sight,  and  said  in  an  irrital)le  voice,  "  I  detest 
all  yonng  married  women." 

"Very  polite,"  said  Stephanie,  rising,  and 
making  him  a  coquettish  curtsey. 

"  Oh !  you  are  no  longer  in  that  category ; 
but  I  should  prefer  visiting  even  you  two  or 
three  years  hence." 

This  novel  profession  of  faith  was  due  to  a 
newly-developed  jealousy — the  lees  of  his  for- 
mer feelino;.  He  did  not  call  on  Madame 
Subar. 

They  were,  however,  sure  to  meet — people 
always  do  who  have  any  reason  for  desiring  to 
keep  asunder.  There  is  a  magnetism  in  this 
world  which  draws  those  together  who  are 
either  to  unite  or  to  combat. 

The  meeting  of  these  two  took  place  at  a 
ball  during  tlie  Carnival.  Pauline  knew  she 
had  flushed  as  he  came  towards  her.  He  ap- 
proached with  the  nonchalant  manner  with 
which  he  had  learned  to  veil  all  his  emotions  ; 
that  is,  when  he  had  any.  Probal)ly  on  this 
occasion  he  was  not  so  unembarrassed  as  he 
appeared.  He  sat  down  by  her,  and  began  at 
once  to  speak  of  St.  Gloi,  incpiiring  after  M. 
and  Mme.  Rendu,  and  for  all  those  he  chose 
to  call  his  "  old  friends.     AVhat  a  misnomer  ! 


PAINFUL   KEAL1TIE8.  179 

What  did  he  care  for  those  people,  or  they  for 
him  ? " 

One  exception,  however,  there  was — he  still 
retained  a  grateful  recollection  of  old  Ma- 
dame Jorey.  "  She  and  I  exchange  letters  at 
the  New  Year,"  he  said.  "  She  sends  me 
etrennes  of  the  produce  of  her  farm,  and  I 
send  her  bonbons  from  Serandet." 

Panliue  tlionght  of  the  Sunday  bonbon- 
making,  but  to  all  appearances  he  had  forgot- 
ten it. 

Then  he  spoke  of  Stephanie.  It  was  a 
pleasure,  he  said,  to  see  how  happy  she  and  De 
Saye  were.  "  She  gave  me  quite  a  severe  lect- 
ure on  my  ignorance  and  misrepresentation  of 
marriages  and  the  way  they  are  made.  By  the 
bye,  I  understand  you  also  were  dreadfully 
shocked  by  ray  last  play." 

"  '  Shocked '  is  not  the  right  word,"  replie.d 
Pauline,  in  a  voice  unfamiliar  to  him,  it  was 
so  firm  and  grave.  "  I  was  disa])pointed.  I 
had  hoped  for  something  better  than  a  satire, 
almost  a  caricature." 

"  Spoken  with  the  eloquence  of  party  spirit. 
You  are  enrolled  among  matrons,  and  object 
to  the  diAmlficins:  of  the  secrets  of  your  class. 
I  am  a  realist,  and  describe  what  I  see.  As 
you  are  aware,  I  live  by  my  pen,  and  I  should 
starve  if  I  painted  pastoi^als." 

"  But  there  is  also  a  beautiful  side  of  human 
nature  to  those  who  look  for  it.  You  will  not 
deny  tliere  is  beauty  as  well  as  ugliness  in  the 
world,"  said  Pauline. 


180  jtpiter's  daughters. 

"  But  suppose  I  shame  one  mother,  one  only, 
from  a  dishonest  bargain,  have  I  done  nothing 
against  the  ugliness  and  for  the  beauty  of  our 
many-sided  nature  ?  " 

"  That  is  one  way  of  viewing  it,  certainly, 
but—" 

"  You  still  remain  my  adversary."  He 
stopped,  and  added,  "  Here,  I  believe,  is  M. 
Subar.     Shall  we  take  him  as  umpire  ?  " 

Pauline  introduced  the  two  men  to  one 
another,  and  after  a  few  conventional  phrases, 
having  no  reference  to  the  subject  in  dispute, 
]VI.  Subar  walked  his  wife  off. 

"  Your  friend,  the  author,  looks  just  like  any 
one  else— not  a  bit  like  a  hero  of  romance," 
said  Leon,  as  they  drove  home. 

"  Why  should  he  ? "  asked  Pauline,  dryly. 
"  Those  sort  of  men  usually  affect  something 
to  make  people  stare  ;  but  this  play- writer  has 
nothing  of  the  Bohemian  about  him." 

When  Pauline  was  left  to  herself,  she  ex- 
perienced that  dissatisfaction  we  so  often  feel 
after  an  evening  in  company ;  haunted  by  a 
wish  we  had  not  said,  or  looked,  or  done  one 
particular  thing,  the  something,  in  reality, 
having  passed  quite  unobserved.  She  was  dis- 
pleased, disappointed,  and  would  have  been 
puzzled  to  explain  why.  Was  it  that  the^ 
reality  of  the  present  had  marred  the  ideal  of  ^ 
the  i)ast? 

Vilpont  had  asked  her  which  was  her  recep- 
tion day.  She  hoped  he  would  not  come. 
She  did  not  care  to  see  him  again ;  and  she 


PAINFUL    REALITIES.  181 

was  convinced,  without  needing  to  think  twice 
about  it,  that  he  and  Leon  would  not  suit  one 
another. 

Yilpont,  on  his  side,  had  intended  to  present 
himself  immediately  at  the  Subars,  and  then 
he  had  hesitated.  There  is  no  accounting  for 
attraction  or  repulsion  ;  and  sho  who  is  no 
Circe  for  the  many  may  be  dangerous  to  one 
in  particular.  Years  ago  Vilpont  had  jokingly 
called  Pauline  "  dangerous."  His  present 
hesitation  was  significant,  but  it  did  not  last 
long. 

He  had  not  required  to  talk  ten  minutes 
with  M.  Subar  to  fathom  his  shallowness. 
"  Poor  thing !  poor  little  Pauline !  how  she 
had  boasted  of  having  ideas  and  opinions  of 
her  own,  and  tied  to  such  a  donkey !  Hand- 
some, though,  and  rich ;  after  all,  many  a 
charming  woman  has  adored  an  ass." 

Vilpont  made  his  appearance  in  Madame 
Subar's  drawing-room  on  her  second  reception- 
day,  after  he  had  met  her  at  the  ball. 


182  Jupiter's  daughters. 

CHAPTER  V. 

A  FIRST  WARNING-. 

SENTiMTi;NTS  and  seeds  have  a  decided  anal- 
ogy— a  seed,  hidden  aM^ay  for  centuries,  when 
brought  to  light,  f  ructities ;  a  sentiment,  for- 
gotten for  years,  laid  bare  Ijy  some  chance  word 
or  act,  suddenly  asserts  its  vitality,  and  grows 
apace.  The  little  seed  which  had  fallen  into 
Pauline's  young  heart  five  years  ago  was  ger- 
minating. It  happened  to  her,  as  it  has  hap- 
pened and  will  happen  to  so  many,  to  be  blind 
to  the  cause  of  the  sudden  gilding  of  her  days 
— of  what  was  transforming  the  dull  to  the 
bright. 

The  sharp  Zelie  was  not  slow  to  remark  that 
at  this  time  Madame  Subar  broke  out  fre- 
quently into  song  ;  shakes,  roulades^  loud  and 
gleeful,  often  startled  the  ears  of  the  valetaille. 
tfoseph  wagged  his  head  slowly  on  one  of  these 
occasions,  and  sagely  remarked  tliat  "  nothing 
made  women  happy  but  balls  and  dress." 

"  Vieille  hete  !  "  ejaculated  his  wife,  with  a 
look  that  made  Joseph  say — 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Nothing  that  concerns  thee,"  was  the  mys- 
terious answer. 

M.  Vilpont  had  become  a  regular  visitor  at 
the  Subars ;  so  much  so,  that  Leon  one  day 
startled    his  wife   by  saying,  "  I  do  wonder, 


A   FIRST   WARNING.  183 

Pauline,   you  can  bear   so  much  talk   about 
poetry  and  pictures." 

"  What  else  can  I  talk  about,  Leon  ?  I  don't 
understand  anything  of  horses  and  dogs." 

"  I  suppose  I  know  a  good  picture  when  I 
see  it  as  well  as  any  one  else,  though  I  can't 
speechify  for  an  hour  about  how  it  is  done." 

"■  But  you  would  care  about  finding  out  the 
painter's  method  if  you  were  studying  paint- 
ing, as  I  am  doing." 

"  You  would  do  a  great  deal  better  if  yon 
rode  out  with  me,  instead  of  making  yourself 
a  mess  with  paints  ;  and  what's  the  use  ? " 

"  Of  no  use,  but  a  great  pleasure  to  me  ;  and 
I  wish  I  could  ride,  but  I  have  no  courage." 

Such  conversations  were  the  mere  passing 
clouds  which  threw  momentary  shadows  across 
Pauline's  smi  of  content. 

Tiiere  was  small  similarity  between  Pau- 
line's and  Yilpont's  feelings.  She  was  happy 
in  her  unconsciousness  of  danger.  Had  any 
one  hinted  to  her  that  her  feet  were  stravins 
into  perilous  paths,  she  would  have  drawn  her 
little  figure  up  to  its  highest  possibility,  and 
scornfully  smiled  at  the  warning,  if,  indeed, 
she  did  not  b3g  the  adviser  never  again  to  cross 
her  threshold. 

But  Yilpont  had  no  such  blindness.  He 
was  one  of  those  men  as  far  from  being  su- 
premely good  as  he  was  from  being  supremely 
bad.  He  was,  in  fact,  such  as  most  men  are — • 
prune  to  slide  into  wrong-doing,  but  not  deliber- 
ately to  walk  into  evil  ways;  in  short,  a  man  of 


184  Jupiter's  daughters.   . 

impulse,  which  is  the  same  as  saying  he  would 
never  of  malice  prepense  do  a  wicked  deed. 

It  is  difficult,  no  doubt,  for  a  man  who  sees 
a  charming  woman's  eyes  brighten  when  he 
appears,  to  resist  the  temptation  to  see  that 
effect  pretty  often.  Yilpout  had  had  more 
than  his  share  of  successes  of  that  kind,  but 
never  with  any  one  so  unsophisticated  and  sin- 
cere as  Pauline. 

At  first  he  studied  this  lighting  up  of  her 
eyes,  and  the  transformation  of  the  whole 
face,  growing  so  transparent  that  her  very  soul 
looked  out  at  him,  as  men  do  who  in  the  inter- 
est of  their  art  are  always  on  the  alert  for 
symptoms^  of  the  passions — a  study  seldom  free 
from  danger. 

jSTow  and  then  aN^ualm  of  conscience  made 
Yilpont  absent  himself;  but  this  half-sacritice 
only  resulted  in  giving  a  keener  pleasui'e  to 
both  at  their  next  meeting.  Whether  mortals 
have  or  have  not  guardian  angels  may  be  dis- 
puted ;  what  is  sure,  is,  that  we,  none  of  us, 
err  without  a  warning,  or  indeed  many  warn- 
ings; and  Pauline  was  to  experience  this. 

It  was  in  a  call  after  one  of  these  absences 
that  Yilpont  interrupted  himself  in  an  inter- 
esting account  of  the  visit  he  had  just  made  to 
the  "Forges  de  Creuzot,''  to  say  suddenly, 
"  Surely  you  are  infested  with  rats  and 
mice." 

Pauline  repeated  in  amazement,  "  Kats  ? — 
mice  5 

'*  I    assure    you,"    he    answered,    "  I    am 


A    FIRST   WARNENQ.  185 

tempted  to  strike  as  Hamlet  did  Avlien  he 
heard  a  noise  behind  the  arras." 

"  I  don't  the  least  nnderstand,"  said  Pan- 
line, 

"  Ah  !  you  are  not  aware  of  my  insane  hor- 
ror for  such  -\  ermin.  Allow  me  to  look  round. 
Do  von  not  hear  something — a  horrid,  stealthy 
step"? " 

Pauline's  cliange  of  color  was  sufficient  an- 
swer. She  did  hear  a  slifrht  sound,  such  as  a 
velvet-footed  cat  mij^bt  make  stealing:  on  its 
prey. 

Yilpont  went  on — "  I  should  advise  you, 
Madame  Subar,  to  be  on  vour  guard  against 
letting  such  noisesome  intruders  gaiiif  a  foot- 
in^in  your  pretty  hotel." 

Pauline,  who  now  understood  that  he  sus- 
pected some  one  of  trying  to  overhear  their 
conversation,  said  as  calmly  as  she  could,  "  I 
will  certainly  have  the  matter  looked  into." 

After  an  interruption  of  this  nature,  to  re- 
sume their  conversation  was  impossible ;  the 
fine  golden  thread  had  been  snapped  past 
knotting  together  again. 

There  are  many  persons  like  Pauline,  who 
live  stone-blind  to  the  suspicions  they  excite 
or  the  traps  laid  for  them,  until  the  moment 
when  light,  striking  into  the  darkness,  shows 
them,  too  late,  their  peril. 

Happily,  Madame  Subar's  attention  was 
roused  to  what  had  hitherto  passed  unheeded 
— a  strangeness  lately  in  her  maid's  bearing 
and  conversation,  a  levity  of  speech  and  an 


186  Jupiter's  daughters. 

nndne  familiarity  of  inanner,  to  which  she  be- 
gan now  to  attach  a  meaning. 

For  instance,  only  a  few  days  ago,  Zelie, 
while  dressing  her  hair,  had  spoken  of  having 
been  to  see  M.  Yilpont's  new  play,  and  had 
described  with  ecstasy  the  dresses  of  the 
actresses. 

"  Those  are  the  happiest  women  in  the 
world,  madame— always  applanded,  and  the 
iinest,  richest  gentlemen  at  their  feet.  If  I 
were  to  live  my  life  over  again,  I  would  never 
marry  ;  and  you,  madame — " 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  nothing  to  complain 
of,"  Pauline  had  answered;  "you  have  au 
excellent  husband." 

"  I  don't  complain,  madame ;  but  after  a 
year  husbands  look  on  their  wives  as  nothing 
more  than  a  bit  of  furniture — wives  are  no 
better  than  the  men — fine  ladies  do  safely 
what  w^ould  ruin  a  waiting-maid's  character." 

Pauline  had  shown  her  displeasure  by  re- 
quiring some  service  which  put  an  end  to 
Zelie's  observations. 

All  this  flashed  back  upon  her, together  with 
Stephanie's  warning,  supported  now  by  Yil- 
pont. 

No  one  seeing  a  lion  in  his  path  could  have 
started  back  witli  a  greater  mingling  of  de- 
spair and  terror  than  did  poor  Pauline  at  this 
discovery.  The  bitterest  drop  to  swallow  was 
that  Vilpont  should  have  divined  that  she  was 
suspected  by  her  own  servant,  and  of  what 
she  was  suspected.     What  had  she  ever  done 


A   FIRST    WAKNING,  187 

to  deserve  such  an  indignity?  Her  first  feel- 
ing  was  anger  against"  Yilpont ;  slie  would 
slint  her  door  to  liim— do  so  openly  ;  it  would 
prove  how  perfectly  indifferent  she  was  to 
him.  Had  he  possessed  any  delicacy,  he 
would  not  have  shown  her  so  brutally  the  in- 
terpretation put  on  his  visits. 

O  dear  Heaven !  her  own  familiar  friend, 
and  her  ow'n  menial! 

All  the  pride  of  woman's  nature  rose  up  in 
arms. 

Why  not  have  left  her  in  ignorance  ?  Was 
there  anything  to  hide  ?  Tlie  more  she  was 
watched,  the  better. 

Pauline  was  liice  one,  who,  no  believer  in 
ghosts,  yet  wandering  in  the  dark,  is  frighted 
by  the  shadow  of  a  nameless  horror. 

"  She  wanted  advice— she  yearned  to  confide 
in  some  one — but  to  whom  ?  She  dared  not 
tell  lier  mother.  Beforehand,  she  knew  how 
severe  would  be  her  mother's  sentence — she 
had  a  prescience  of  all  the  cruel  M'ords  she 
would  launch  at  Vilpont ;  and  Pauline,  how- 
ever she  might  blame  his  want  of  tact,  exon- 
erated him  from  any  other  fault.  He  had 
never  spoken  a  word  or  looked  a  look  that  all 
the  world  might  not  have  taken  cognizance  of. 
He  had  been  very  kind— the  only  one  who  evei 
led  her  thoughts  to  any  higher  subjects  than 
scandal  or  the  amusements  of  the  gay  world — 
the  only  one  to  whom  she  seemed  always  to 
have  something  to  say.  "  Ah  !  what  a  blank 
in  her  life,  if  she  had  to  give  up  his  visits!" 


188  Jupiter's  daughters. 

CHAPTEK  YI. 

ON   THE    QUI    VIVE. 

Dinner  cannot  be  delayed  because  the  lady 
of  the  house  is  a  prey  to  painful  misgivin^^s. 
Pauline  was  a  tyro  in  conceahnent,  and  she 
had  thouirht  so  long  how  she  should  behave  to 
Zelie,  that  she  had  let  the  dressing-hour  pass 
unattended  to. 

Leon  was  silent  during  dinner — very  un- 
usual fi  r  him,  who  could  only  manage  to 
think  by  the  help  of  speech.  He  belonged  to 
the  pretty  numerous  class  who  talk  in  order  to 
understand  their  own  thoiiglits,  the  conse- 
quence rather  of  a  want  of  early  training,  than 
of  any  original  defect  of  intelligence. 

At  this  day's  dinner  he  let  his  words  drop 
as  though  the  fate  of  nations  depended  on 
them.  Pauline  labored,  on  lier  side,  to  keep 
up  a  conversation  that  should  hide  from  the 
servants  their  master's  ill-tempered  taciturnity. 
But  as  soon  as  they  were  alone  in  the  salon, 
she  gave  up  the  struggle,  and  took  a  book. 
Kot  that  she  cared  to  read,  but  that  she  wanted 
to  retiect  whether  the  should  follow  her  in- 
clination, and  mention  that  she  was  no  longer 
well  pleased  with  Zelie.  She  hesitated,  from 
an  instinctive  repugnance  to  mix  up  Vilpont's 
name  in  the  discussion  that  must  ensue.  She 
foresaw  that  even  should  she  avoid  any  men- 


ON   THE   QUI   VIVE.  189 

tion  of  him,  Zelie  M'onld  be  less  reticent,  and 
rauline,  with  a  thrill  of  terror,  allowed  to 
herself  that  Zelie  was  sufficiently  artful  to 
manage  to  chano-e  their  relative  positions  from 
that  of  accused  to  accuser.  This  hour  was 
perhaps  as  sad  a  one  as  Pauline  would  ever 
experience  in  her  life.  It  was  then  she 
learned  the  lesson  that  in  this  world  of  ours 
necessities  will  arise  which  force  the  most 
candid  soul  to  desire  to  throw  a  veil  over  the 
truth. 

While  thus  debating  within  herself,  Leon 
suddeidy  asked,  "  What  is  it  that  so  absorbs 
you,  Pauline  ?  One  of  Monsieur  (with  an 
emphasis  on  the  Monsieur)  Vilpont's  plays?" 

"  No,  some  stories  by  a  new  author." 

"  All  on  the  same  subject,  no  doubt — teach- 
in£r  women  to  care  for  anv  one  but  their  own 
husbands." 

"  Claude  Plouet,  my  present  hero,  is  an  ap- 
prentice in  love  with  his  master's  daughter. 
The  style  is  charming." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  learned  as  to 
be  able  to  play  the  critic  of  style  ;  probably 
you  have  been  taking  lessons  in  the  art." 

"  Criticism  is  easy,  and  art  is  difficult," 
quoted  Pauline ;  "  but  what  is  the  matter, 
Leon?" 

"Nothing  is  the  matter.  Except  that  it  is 
not  very  amusing  to  have  a  wife  with  her  head 
always  buried  in  bo(,)ks.  I  did  not  bargain 
for  til  at,  you  know.  By  the  way,  why  are  you 
not  going  to  the  opera  this  evening  ?  " 


190  Jupiter's  daughtees, 

"  It  is  not  my  night  for  the  box,  but  "vre 
miglit  go  somewhere  else." 

"  Thank  you.  I  don't  approve  of  taking 
you  on  chance  to  any  theatre." 

Pauline  laid  aside  her  book,  and  went  to 
the  piano.  Just  as  she  had  begun  to  sing, 
Leon  rang  the  bell  furiously.  "  I  want  the 
brougham,"  he  said  to  the  servant,  and  left  the 
room  without  a  word  to  his  wife. 

How  was  it  possible  for  her  to  imagine  that 
Leon's  ill-humor  and  his  observations,  so  apt 
to  the  tenor  of  her  thoughts,  w^ere  merely  a 
strange  coincidence ;  that  he  had  hit  at  ran- 
dom, and  that  his  annoyance  was  caused  by  a 
wound  to  his  vanity  in  which  she  had  no  share. 
Irritated  as  he  was  (and  what  an  amount  of 
menace,  it  had  seemed  to  her,  he  had  imparted 
to  the  Monsieur  before  Vilpont's  name  !)  she 
trembled  to  think  what  nnVht  have  been  the 
consequences  had  she  made  her  complaint  of 
Zelie. 

She  was  startled  out  of  her  nncomfortable 
reflections  by  the  sound  of  the  timbre  SLUuonuc- 
ing  a  visitor.     It  was  the  young  Madame  de 

B ,   one   of   the   most  fashionable  of   the 

great  ladies  of  Paris. 

Pauline   was    surprised,   for    hitherto    her 

acquaintance  with  Madame  de  B had  been 

ceremonious  and  superficial. 

Thei-c  were  assuredly  no  affinities  between 
the  two  ladies — the  one  resembling  a  wild  wood 
flower — the  other,  one  of  those  nndti-petalled, 
multi-shaded  roses,  the  pride  of  modern  horti- 


ON   THE   QCri    VIVE.  191 

culture.     Madame    de   B was   by   turns 

aristocratic,  democratic,  artistic,  tlying  liigh, 
stooping  low,  volatile  as  a  child,  restless  as  a 
bird  ;  sue  believed  herself  the  sport  of  a  warm 
heart  and  ardent  feelings,  when  Iier  poor  heart 
was  as  iimocent  of  her  vagaries  as  any  stone, 
her  head  alone  being  in  fault.  "  Mauvaise 
tete^''  said  her  admirei-s.  Her  person,  like  her 
character,  was  an  assemblage  of  contradictions. 
The  upper  part  of  the  face  handsome,  almost 
grave,  the  mouth  and  jaw  heavy,  and  trench- 
ing on  the  vulgar.  In  figure,  she  was  what 
Lord  Byron  stigmatized  as  ''  dumpy,"  but  with 
hands  and  feet  ideally  perfect. 

Madame  de  B ■  advanced  to  Pauline  with 

all  the  familiarity  of  intimacy.  "I  astonish 
you,  mco  helle — your  pretty  blue  eyes  speak 
clearly ;  you  see  before  you  a  victim.  My 
aunt,  on  whom  I  reckoned  for  the  oj^era  this 
evening,  has  played  me  false — got  some  kind 
of  fever.  It's  friorhtful ;  how  easv  it  is  for 
people  to  go  out  of  the  world  !  Well,  ma  tres- 
helle^  as  1  was  driving  past,  I  saw  lights  in 
your  windows.  Here  is  my  salvation,  I 
thought — crac — and  here  I  am  ;  you  will  be 
amiable  as  you  look,  and  come  with  me.     M. 

de  B hates  to  see  me  in  my  box  without 

some  other  petticoat  by  my  side — save  me  a 
lectm-e." 

"But  I  am  not  dressed,"  said  Pauline. 

"  An  affair  of  live  minutes  :  some  llowers  in 
your  hair — a  burnous — you  don't  need  any 
paint — what   a   happiness  ! — fleeting,   like  all 


192  juiiter's  daughteks. 

that  is  charinino;.  There,  I  have  I'uns:  for 
your  woman. 

Pauline  submitted  ;  in  fact,  relieved  to  be 
saved  from  a  tete-d-tete  with  her  thoughts. 

As  they  entered  the  box  Madame  de  B 

said,  "  There's  your  husband,  I  declare  ;  and 
he  sees  us." 

Leon  was  in  one  of  the  orchestra-stalls,  and 
met  Pauline's  eyes  with  the  most  agreeable  of 
smiles. 

"  Monsieur  Subar  has  a  look  of  Monsieur 

de   B ,"  said   the  Countess,  studying  him 

through  her  double  opera-glass.  "  Both  are 
handsome  enough,  at  least  every  one  tells  me 
my  husband  is  an  Adonis.  When  he  proposed 
for  me,  you  would  have  said  the  happiness  of 
my  life  was  to  be  founded  on  his  having  a  fine 
nose.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  ma  tres-chere,  I 
have  but  a  poor  opinion  of  men.  I  don't  con- 
sider them  our  equals,  do  you?  IIow  can  I, 
when  I  see  what  fools  we  can  make  of  them  ; 
I  amuse  myself  with  experimenting  on  their 
facility  for  swallowing  any  bait  ?  "     Madame 

de   B was   garrulous   as   a    linnet ;    she 

listened  to  herself  with  complacency,  per- 
suaded she  was  a  wit.     She  only  listened  when 

sung.     "  lie  is  my  present  occupation," 

she  said.  "  See  how  he  looks  this  way ; 
amusinfj — he  fancies  I  am  in  earnest.  He  is  a 
perfect  ape — but  I  am  tired  to  death  of  good- 
looking  men  ;  are  not  you?  " 

The  most  reasonable  conversation  would 
certainly  not  liave  calmed  Pauline's  nerves  as 


ON   THE   QUI   VIVE.  193 

well  as  this  senseless  cliatter.  Taken  together 
with  the  music  and  Leon's  smiling  aspect,  she 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had  been 
making  mountains  of  mole-hills.  Her  mind 
worked  M'ith  that  double  power  innate  in  us 
all,  which  allows  of  the  flowing  of  two  currents 
of  thought  as  unmingled  as  the  waters  of  the 
Arve  and  of  Lake  Leman. 

Before  she  closed  her  eyes  for  the  night,  she 
had  the  satisfaction  of  thinking  how  sillily  she 
had  allowed  imagination  to  alarm  her.  To  this 
desirable  end  had  contributed  Leon's  first 
words  after  their  return  home. 

"  I  was  so  glad  to  sec  you  with  Madame  de 

B ,"  said  Leon.     "  She  is  in  the  best  world 

of  Paris  ;  cultivate  her  acquaintance,  and  she 
will  get  every  palace  door  opened  to  you. 
You  should  talvc  some  hints  from  her  dress — 
you  looked  like  a  little  nun  by  her  side  ;  out 
of  justice  to  me,  you  should  try  to  be  more 
attractive."  All  this  time  Leon  was  studying 
himself  in  a  large  mirror. 

The  most  modest  woman  in  the  world  will 
resent  her  husband's  depreciation  of  her 
appearance  ;  so  Pauline  replied  with  a  certain 
pique,  "  Her  present  caprice  is  an  admiration 
for  ugly  men." 

"  H'm  ;  words  are  used  to  conceal  thoughts, 
my  innocent  one,"  retorted  the  self-satisfied 
husband. 

Life  for  the  Subars  went  on  as  before,  until 
the  end  of  the  Carnival.     Pauline  then  made 
known  her  intention  of  going  into   Retreat. 
9 


194  JUPITER'S   DAUGHTERS. 

She  had  chosen  the  convent  in  which  she  liad 
been  educated,  and  where  she  would  find 
Madame  Agnes  on  leave  of  absence  from 
England. 

Leon,  on  l^eing  hiformed  of  his  wife's  proj- 
ect, laughed,  and  said,  "What  mignons  2>eches 
are  jou' going  to  repent  of? — but  of  course,  I 
am  not  going  to  interfere.  Few  husbands 
would  venture  on  doing  so  in  such  a  case." 

Vilpont  sneered  when  he  heard  of  the  mat- 
ter. "  Droll !  how  you  women  love  extremes — 
roses  to-day,  ashes  to-morrow,  anything  for  a 
sensation." 

"  And  you  men  ? "   exclaimed  Madame   de 

B ,  now  as  often  to  I)c  met  in  Pauline's 

salon  as  Yilpont.  "  And  you  men — do  you 
differ  much  from  us?  Ti-etty  exam]>les  you 
set  us,  with  your  oscillations — now  at  the  shrine 
of  virtue,  and  piff-paff,  Ijowing  the  knee  to 
some  ugly  Delilah.  You  want  all  the  fun 
for  yourselves.  Thank  you,  1  like  my  share 
in  tlie  frolics." 

"I  have  no  objection,"  said  Vilpont. 
"  Thank  Heaven  1  have  no  stakes  to  lose  !  " 

Ilow  tliat  "  Thank  Heaven  !  "  pained  Pau- 
line. With  a  woman's  sensitiveness  she  took 
it  as  a  negation  of  the  feeling  she  believed 
he  had  once  clierislicd  for  her.  Poor  soul ! 
pity  to  think  how  she  grieved  over  those  light 
words. 


GOSSIP.  195 


CHAPTER   VII. 


GOSSIP. 

N'est  plus  amour  qui  bien  aimer  f  aisait. 
Les  faux  amants  Font  jetc  hors  de  vie. 
Amour  vivant  n'est  plus  que  tromperie  ; 

Pour  franc  amour,  priez  Dieu,  s'il  vous  plait. 

Pauline  remained  in  retreat  dnring  the 
whole  of  Lent.  She  resisted  alike  Madame 
Rendu's  maternal  warnings  of  the  impropriety 
of  sncli  a  protracted  absence  from  her  husband 
and  Madame  Agnes's  admonitions  as  to  her 
duty  as  a  wife. 

"  I  guess  joii  liave  some  sorrow  weighing  on 
you,  Pauline  ;  nevertheless  we  must  keep  our 
lamps  bui-ning,  and  be  found  always  ready  at 
our  appointed  posts." 

Pauline  answei-ed — "  Do  you  remember  my 
writing  to  you  long  ago — how  long  ago  it  seems 
—that  I  nnist  expect  trouble  in  my  married 
life,  having  known  none  as  a  girl.  The 
trouble  has  come,  dear  friend,  and  in  a  worse 
shape  than  any  my  ignorance  of  life  at  that 
time  could  picture.  Ah  !  dear  madame,  mar- 
riage in  France  has  nothing  in  it  of  a  Divine 
institution." 

"  A  tragical-sounding  phrase  to  express  some 
annoyance,"  said  Madame  Agnes.  "  In  real 
life,  my  dear  child,  we  bruise  our  feet  often 


196  Jupiter's  daugiitkks. 

on  the  I'oufjh  stones  that  lie  on  onr  path,  hut 
they  do  not  inflict  incurable  wonnds.  Ah ! 
you  smile  now,  do  you  not,  at  what  made  you 
shed  tears  as  a  child  ?  So  it  will  probably  be 
some  years  hence,  nay  one  year  hence,  with  the 
trouble  you  feel  so  heavy  now." 

"  The  belief  that  some  day  the  pain  will 
vanish  does  not  cure  the  present  smart." 

"  Ah,  Pauline  !  the  fi-iction  of  life  wears  out 
everything — joy,  love,  hope,  sorrow,  ambition, 
all  pass  away,  and — " 

"  Do  not  say  any  more,  dear  friend  ;  if  I  be- 
lieved you,  I  could  not  live." 

"  Poor  child*! — poor  impatient  child  !  who 
will  not  let  me  remind  her  there  is  one 
Staff  on  which  she  might  lean  and  be  sure  it 
would  never  break,  let  the  burden  of  her  sor- 
row be  ever  so  great." 

In  some  states  of  mind  consolation  chafes, 
advice  irritates  ;  what  the  galled  soul  wants  is 
to  be  allowed  to  complain,  to  talk  over  its  hurt 
— in  short,  "  to  rail  at  Fortune  in  good  terms 
— in  good,  set  terms." 

Pauline  turned  with  distaste  from  the  wave- 
less  future  to  which  Madame  Agnes  pointed, 
and  checked  the  outpouring  of  her  heart. 

Tlie  first  face  Pauline  saw  on  her  return 
home  was  Zelie's  unkind  one.  During  Ma- 
dame Subar's  absence,  Zelie  had  busily  spread 
her  venom  through  all  the  neighboring  loges  de 
Concierges  :  Monsieur  Subar  was  madame's 
victim — madame  neglected  him  cruelly,  caring 
for  nothing  but  her  music  and  painting,  al- 


GOSSIP.  197 

^va^'S  taken  np  with  a  queer  set  who  wrote 
plays  and  painted  pictures,  quite  indifferent 
whether  monsieur  liked  such  goings-on  or 
not. 

"■  Dame  !  "  objected  one  of  the  gossips,  "  if 
she  does  no  worse,  she  is  an  angel.     Look  at 

Mesdames  .A ,  or  B ,  or  C .     Mon 

Dieu  !  are  they  wild  ?  " 

On  which  Zelie  would  raise  her  shoulders  as 
high  as  her  ears,  and  say,  "  Still  waters  aie 
dano-erons ! " 

But  Zelie's  sharp  wits  speedily  understood 
that  the  chance  of  having  any  hold  on  her 
mistress  had  disappeared.  She  ceased  her  fa- 
miliarity, and  waited  on  Madame  Sul)ar  with 
the  haughty  air  of  a  captive  Zenobia.  Her 
hatred  of  Pauline,  however,  was  daily  deep- 
ened by  the  little  stabs  to  her  vanity  which  Leon 
so  often  gave  by  laughing  at  the  contrast  be- 
tween her  dark  skin  and  his  wife's  fairness. 

His  ijreetinor  to  Pauline  was  in  this  wise — 

"  So  you  have  nown  back  to  the  nest !  Why, 
my  kitten,  you  are  as  pale  and  thin  as  a  saint 
— isn't  she,  Zelie  ?  Ma  foi.,  you  two  make  a 
capital  contrast.  I'll  have  you  painted  to- 
gether." And  then  Leon  rattled  on.  "  You 
know  I  have  a  horse  to  run  on  Sunday.  Get 
madame  a  brilliant  toilette  for  the  occasion, 
Zelie — blue  sets  oft"  her  complexion,  you  know ; 
and  aprojyos,  ina  clih'e^  your  adorer,  tlie  play- 
writer,  has  transferred  his  allegiance.  Les 
ahsents  ont  totijours  tort,  ma  c/icrie.  That 
hits  more  than  our  ex- friend,  eh  !     However, 


193  JUPITEIl's    DAUGHTERS. 

you  are  as  pretty  as  a  heart,  so  I  forgive  jour 
desertion." 

Leon  could  not  help  his  shallowness  ;  j'ou 
might  as  well  have  been  wroth  with  liira  be- 
cause he  had  black  and  not  gray  eyes,  and 
Pauline  was  decidedly  wrong  to  resent  his 
want  of  depth.  His  taste  and  his  .capabilities 
wore  those  of  a  mirror,  laying  entirely  among 
externals. 

"Wlien  M.  Subar  had  taken  his  leave,  Zelie 
remarked,  "Monsieur  did  not  perhaps  like  to 
tell  madame,  but  all  Paris  is  talkiuoj  of  ma- 
dame's  friends,  M.  Yilpont  and  the  Countess 
de  B ." 

Zelie  licked  her  lips  with  the  relish  of  a  fox 
who  has  just  devoured  a  lamb. 

Pauline  said,  "  I  never  believe  anything  I 
hear  and  only  half  that  I  see,  Zelie.  There 
would  be  no  living  in  peace  with  the  people 
about  one,  if  we  trusted  either  our  eyes  or  our 
ears." 

Zelie  was  silenced  as  much  by  madame'3 
look  and  tone  as  by  the  significant  words. 

The  cheres  mesdames  who  filled  Pauline's 
salon  on  the  first  day  she  received  visits  after 
her  return,  like  Zelie,  had  nothing  more  at 
heart  than  to  retail  the  last  piece  of  scandal. 
Tlie  question,  "Have  you  heard  of  poor  Ma- 
dame de  B ? "  was  a  real  honne  houche. 

"  ISo  retenue — no  savoir-vivre — no  respect  on 
either  side  for  les  convenances^^  rattled  like 
hail  about  Pauline's  ears. 

"  Mafoi,  ladies,"  said  a  gentleman,  "  do  not 


GOSSIP.  199 

blame  Yilpont  too  bitterly  ;  women  never  be- 
lieve in  a  man  till  they  have  forced  him  to 
compromise  them." 

"  Infamous  ! — horrible  !  —  mijust !  "  ..  came 
from  all  sides. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  arch-culprit,  the  mau- 
'vaissujet?  "  asked  one  lady  of  Madame  Subar. 

"  No — but  let  us  chancre  the  subject ;  either 

he  or  Madame  de  B may  come  in  at  any 

moment." 

"  She  would  not  dare." 

"  Why  not  ?  scandal  is  not  proof.  If  every 
one  were  found  guilty  on  the  on  dits  of  society, 
which  of  us  would  escapee." 

Pauline  had  never  read  Shakespeare,  but 
noble  hearts  resemble  one  another  in  all  ages 
and  nations. 

"  You  are  angelically  charitable,  my  dear 
lady,"  said  the  cynic,  who  had  thrown  the  lar- 
gest stone  at  Madame  de  B . 


Visitors  stayed  long,  in  the  hope  of  seeing 
Yilpont's  meeting  with  Pauline  ;  for  in  Paris, 
perhaps  also  elsewhere,  no  possiliility  as  to 
"our  neighbor's  sentiments  or  deeds  is  left  out 
of  the  sphere  of  conjecture."  Vilpont,  pre- 
ferring to  meet  Pauline  when  not  alone,  did 
not  disappoint  the  general  expectation.  He 
could  not  hide  from  himself  that  the  story  she 
must  have  heard  would  displease  her,  but  he 
had  no  conception  of  the  stab  it  liad  given 
her. 

"  After  all,  what  is  it  to  her  ?  "  lu;  had  said 
to  himself.     "  We  are  \evy  good  friends,  Ijut 


200  Jupiter's  daughters. 

that  gives  her  no  right  to  resent  anything  I 
please  to  do."  Nevertheless,  he  could  not  get 
rid  of  an  unwillingness  to  meet  her  eye.  .  Keen 
watchers  saw  his  sallow  face  take  on  a  purple- 
ish  shade  as  he  went  up  to  Madame  Subar,  but 
thev  detected  no  change  of  color  on  her  face. 
He  alone  was  aware  of  a  momentary  quiver  of 
her  upper  lij). 

As  generally  happens,  the  one  subject  to  be 
avoided  was  always  floating  upwards.  Pauline, 
alluding  to  her  own  absence,  said  that  six 
weeks  was  sufficient  to  make  one  feel  like  ar- 
riving from  the  antipodes,  quite  behind-hand 
as  to  fashion  and  news. 

Very  significant  smiles  appeared  on  every 
countenance.  "  Ungrateful  I  "  exclaimed  the 
cynic.  "  Have  all  our  pains  to  enlighten  you 
been  in  vain  ?  " 

Pauline  sought  safety  in  speaking  of  the 
coming  races  and  of  her  husband's  horse. 

"  What  is  it  called  ?  " 

"  Escapade." 

Another  sitter  gave  meaning  to  the  name. 

Then  some  one  asked  Pauline  if  she  had 
seen  "  Frou-frou^ 

And  another  kind-hearted  person  inquired 
of  Vilpont  which  he  would  recommend — •'  Le 
Supplice d' une  Femme^^  or  ''''Frou-frou?''^ 

Vilpont  left  off  biting  the  ends  of  his  mus- 
tache, and  in  his  turn  ])ut  ajqnestion — "  Rec- 
ommend? in  what  way  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  to  Madame  Subar,.  as  she  has  seen 
neither."  . 


GOSSIP.  201 

"  Eitlier  or  neither,"  he  said,  "  they  are  both 
clever  and  both  painful ;  but  Madame  Snbar 
mifi-ht  look  on  at  such  tra2:edie3  as  ang-els  do 
on  the  sins  of  mortals,  witli  tlie  pity  innocence 
gives  to  guilt." 

"  A  pretty  compliment ;  but  remember,  mon- 
sieur, addressed  as  it  is  to  one  person,  it  makes 
you  a  hundred  enemies." 

"  Madame,  the  title  of  enemy  from  ruby  lips 
does  not  alarm  me.     I  accept  your  challenge." 

"  Not  at  all,  there  is  no  challenge,"  replied 
the  lady,  and  not  feeling  at  a  safe  distance 
from  this  practised  freeslioc>ter,  turned  to 
Madame  Subar  with  a  hasty,  "  Sans  adieu,  ma 
belle." 

Vilpont  took  his  leave  at  the  same  time, 
escorting  his  fair  enemy  to  her  carriage. 

"  The  audacity  of  that  man  is  beyond  be- 
lief!" exclaimed  another  lady,  once  sure  he 
was  out  of  hearing. 

"  As  to  that,  this  affair  gives  him  another 
feather  in  his  cap,"  said  the  cynic. 

"  He  had  a  full  panache  of  such  already," 
was  the  rejoinder. 

What  an  underlying  ferocity  there  is  in 
social  intercourse !  How  cleverly,  or  rather 
cunningly,  little  thrusts  are  given,  little  morti- 
fications inflicted !  How  people  feed  their 
darkness  on  otlicrs'  sunshine !  No  one,  who  is 
not  blind,  or  jj|g|^,  or  stupid,  but  must  have 
suft'ered  fronv^^^rritation  social  contact  gives. 
How  little  of  ^H|k)bir.ty  of  kindness  we  meet 
with — nay,  w^ifei^f^^  exists,  is  it  not  often  mis- 
9*  '^ 


202  Jupiter's  daughtees. 

taken  for  •weakness,  want  of  talent  ?  Sharp,  bit- 
ing remarks  are  repeated  with  admiration,  but 
not  the  kind  words  with  which  we  bridle  the 
devil  of  unkinduess  which  lurks  in  us  all. 


i 

\ 


MEASURING    A    LANCE    WITH    SOCIETY.       203 

CHAPTEll  VIII. 

MEASURING   A    LANCE    WITH    SOCIETY. 

Laissez  tranquille  la  fausse  vindicte  humaine,   la   con- 
science fait  lartjement  son  ouvrage. 

There  are  clieerful  households  under  the 
sinister  shadow  of  Vesuvius — people  married 
and  made  merry  until  the  Deluge  overtook 
them ;  tliere  was  dancing  before,  during,  and 
after  the  Reign  of  Terror;  and  even  at  the 
moment  when  the  terrible  shock  of  war  was 
imminent  in  1870,  all  the  gay  world  of  Paris 
was  thinking  of  and  preparing  for  the  concert 
and  ball  to'be  given  by  a  princess  as  her  ban- 
quet and  adieu  to  her  acquaintance. 

A  good-natured,  aristocratic  member  of  the 
Jockey  Club  took  compassion  on  Leon  Subar, 
and  made  interest  for  an  invitation  for  M.  and 
Mme.  Subar. 

AVhen  Leon  received  the  inestimable  card, 
he  actually  put  his  heels  together  and  jumped 
for  joy.  '"  Xow  1  am  happy,"  he  exclaimed. 
Poor  Pauline!  he  was  her  husband,  and  she 
was  bound  by  oath  to  lienor  him.  Well,  she 
obeyed  liim  as  well  as  she  could,  devoting  her- 
self'^ to  milliner  and  dress-maker  with  much  the 
game  feeling  she  would  have  in  dressing  a  doll 
to  please  some  child. 

The  important   evening  arrived,  and  Leon 


204  jupitek's  daughters.    ' 

was  graciously  pleased  to  apjDrove  of  liis  wife's 
dress.  "  I  wish  you  would,  just  for  this  once, 
put  a  touch  of  rouge  below  your  eyes ;  I  want 
my  kitten  to  be  noticed." 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  have  none,"  she  said  ; 
"  and  as  I  am  not  accustomed   to  wear  it,  I 

might  rub  it  into  streaks,  like  Madame  D , 

you  remember,  and  that  would  be  worse  than 
pale  cheeks." 

"There's  some  sense  in  that;  I  must  put  up 
with  you  as  you  are.  Ah !  by  the  bye,  I  have 
taken  on  extra  men  for  the  evenino- :  one  for 
your  cloak,  and  one  for  mine  ;  at  such  places 
there  is  always  a  call  for  '  les  gens  de  Monsieur 
1171  tel^  and  only  one  footman  appearing  would 
raise  a  laugh  at  our  expense." 

"I  begin  to  think  what  is  called  the  'great 
world '  a  very  paltry  one,"  said  Pauline. 

"It's  you  who  are  a  delightful  little  simple- 
ton, my  angel.  Next  year  I  mean  that  we 
should  be  naturalized  among  the  very  highest 
— my  fortune  is  doul)ling.  We  will  go  to 
Itome  this  winter ;  that's  the  surest  way,  I  am 
told,  of  getting  on  with  the  Faubourg — and  your 
being  a  pious  kitten  will  be  a  help." 

Pauline  was  silent — she  was  bound  by  oath 
to  honor  and  obey  him. 

Though  they  reached  the  princess's  hotel 
early,  the  rooms  were  already  well  filled.  As 
Pauline  glanced  round  she  saw  Madame  de 
B ,  but  Madame  de  B strangely  iso- 
lated, a  very  decided  space  left  on  each  side 
of  her.     She  was  standing,  while  near  her  men 


MEASTTRINO    A    LANCE    WITH    SOCIETY.       205 

were  seated;  chivalry  was  clearly  not  in  their 
way,  and  ])r()bably  her  sharp  tongue  or  her  con- 
tempt for  tlieir  attentions  while  she  was  a  leader 
of  fashion,  stirred  them  to  take  their  revenge. 

Madame  de  B was  noted  for  her  spirit, 

but  she  was  evidently  now  ill  at  ease ;  the  most 
courasreous  woman  shrinks  from  being  avoided 
in  a  salon.  As  Pauline  s  eyes  fell  on  her, 
Madame  de  B turned  to  one  of  the  gentle- 
men nearest  to  her  and  said  something,  prob- 
ably made  some  sarcastic  remark  on  his  polite- 
ness, for  he  rose  and    left  his  chair  vacant. 

Madame  de  B -,  after  a  minute's  hesitation, 

availed  herself  of  the  vacant  seat ;  in  five  min- 
utes she  was  again  obviously  left  alone.  Just 
then  the  poor  woman's  eyes  met  those  of  Pau- 
line with  the  dumb  beseechingness  of  some 
animal  in  pain.  With  her  old  iuipulsiveness, 
Pauline  yielded  to  the  appeal,  and  crossing  the 
room,  seated  herself  by  the  Pariah's  side.  As 
she  did  so,  she  caught  sight  of  Leon's  flushed, 
angry  face. 

The  little  scene  had  been  marked  by  some 
unnoticed  spectators — by  the  noble  hostess  and 
lier  nobler  guests.  As  they  passed  round  the 
circle,  the  greatest  lady  of  the  group  bent  her 

lovel}'  head   to  Madame  de  B ,  who  was 

known  to  lier,  while  the  hostess  said  in  a  loud, 
clear  voice  to  Pauline,  as  she  offered  her  hand, 
"  Bien  charrace  de  vous  voir,  chore  madame," 
although  she  had  not  an  idea  who  the  chere 
tnadanie  was ;  but  she  did  know  that  her 
pretty  incognito  had  a  brave,  generous  heart. 


206  jupitee's  daughters. 

"Wonderfnl    how   many   persons    recovered 

their  eyesiorht,  recoo-nizino;  Madame  de  B ; 

bat  society,  like  all  tyrants,  is  mean. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast,  Leon  said, 
with  some  asperity  of  tone,  "  Well,  for  a 
woman  who  is  dead  frightened  for  a  horse, 
yoii  are  astonishing.  I  would  rather  have 
leaped  twenty  fences  than  have  done  wdiat  you 
did  last  evening.  I  declare  ray  heart  stopped 
beating  when  I  sav\'  you  cross  the  room  and  sit 
down  by  that  mad  coquette.  Once  is  enough ; 
don't  you  attem])t  to  play  the  Quixote  for  all 
the  idiotic  women  in  Paris.  If  you  want  to 
get  on  in  the  world,  follow  the  world's  opinion 
— at  least,  never  go  contrary  to  it.  That's  a 
maxim  I  got  out  of  a  book,  so  you  will  not  dis- 
pute its  sense.     Scratch  Madame  de  B 's 

name  off  your  list,  if  you  are  wise." 

"  Time  enough  next  winter,"  said  Pauline, 
M'earily.  "I  w^ant  change  of  air,  Leon.  I  am 
only  a  provincral,  and  Paris  is  too  much  for 
me ;  besides,  every  one  is  going." 

'*  "VYIiere  do  you  wish  to  go  ?  It  is  too  soon 
for  Trouville  or  Baden-Baden." 

"  I  should  be  so  glad  to  go  for  a  little  to  St. 
Gloi.  Mamma  presses  so  much  for  a  visit  from 
us." 

Pauline  understood  the  meaning  of  Leon's 
shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and  added,  "  If  you 
care  to  stop  longer  in  Paris,  I  could  go  alone 
at  first,  and  you  might  join  me  later." 

"You   are   not  such  a  loving   wife  as  Ma- 


MEASURING    A    LANCE    WITII    SOCIi:Tr.       207 

dame  de  Saye  ;  she  will  not  let  De  Saye  go  a 
foot  witlidiit  her." 

"  And  the  Jockey  Club  and  the  races,  etc., 
etc.,"  laughed  Pauline. 

"  Oh !  well,  I  do  not  complain ;  it's  very 
natural  a  girl  should  wish  to  be  with  her 
mother,  so  that  is  settled.  You  will  not  want 
Zelie  to  go  also,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  shall  only  take  Marie — she  belongs 
to  St.  Gloi." 

"  What  a  virtue  !  "  said  Leon,  satirically. 

The  following  morning  Pauline  received  a 
card  before  she  had  left  her  dressing-room. 
_  "  Bring  Madame  de  B to  me  here,  Ze- 
lie ;  and  then  leave  us." 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  doors  shut  and 

fortieres  drawn,  Madame  de  B said,  "  I 

am  afraid  you  would  rather  not  have  had  my 
visit ;  at  least  I  argue  so,  from  the  frown 
Monsieur  Subar  gave  me  as  I  passed  him  on 
the  stair — he  who  was  ready  a  few  days  ago  to 
fetch  and  carry  at  my  bidding.  That,  how- 
ever, does  not  matter.  I  have  come  to  tell 
you  that  I  shall  never  forget  your  kindness 
last  evening,  you  dear,  good  woman.  It  is 
out  of  gratitude,  and  for  nothing  else,  that  I 
will  say  to  yon  what  ropes  should  not  drag 
from  me,  that  I  am  better  than  I  seem.  I 
have  been  imprudent,  audaciously  imprudent, 
because  I  knew  I  was  clear  of  any  real  fault. 
I  wanted  to  amuse  myself — life  is  so  horridly 
tame — and  that  man's  nonchalance  piqued  me"; 
now  you    have   the   truth.       I   wonder   why 


'3 


208  jupitee's  daughters. 

women  like  me  should  be  born  ? "  Here 
Madame  de  B wiped  her  eyes. 

Pauline  kissed  her,  not  knowing  what  to 
say  after  Leon's  prohibition  of  the  day  be- 
fore. 

"  Do  you  know  what  Monsieur  de  B 

said  to  me  about  this  stupid  gossip?  Why, 
that  none  but  &parvenue  would  have  got  her- 
self into  such  a  silly  scrape.  It's  true  I  have 
only  common  puddle  in  my  veins.  Monsieur 
le  Comte  wanted  money  for  himself,  and  my 
mother  wanted  rank  for  me,  and  so  the  bar- 
gain was  made.  However,  he  has  behaved 
very  well  on  tliis  occasion — we  are  going  to 
appear  this  summer  in  a  new  domestic  charac- 
ter. Tell  Monsieur  Subar  that  Monsieur  de 
B does  not  approve  of  gentlemen  treat- 
ing his  wife  uncourteously ;  or  rather,  say 
nothino;  about  it — if  the  occasion  offers,  Mon- 
sieur  Subar  will  find  that  out  for  himself. 
Bah !  what  an  iugrate  I  am,  to  be  fuming  and 
fretting  at  a  slight  when  I  ought  to  be  thank- 
ing you  on  my  knees  for  your  kindness  !  I  see 
you  do  not  know  what  to  say  to  me,  so  I 
Avill  leave  you.  Shall  it  be  au  revoir,  or 
adieu  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  away  to  St.  Gloi,  to  stay  with 
my  father  an.d  mother  for  a  little,"  returned 
Pauline,  evasively. 

"Then  adieu,  my  dear  friend,  for  so  I  shall 
always  hold  you.  When  I  am  at  the  pinnacle  of 
fasliion  next  winter,  1  will  patronize  Monsieur 
Subar  for  your  sake.     Adieu !  "  and  gathei'ing 


MEASDKING    A    LANCE    WITH    SOCIETY.       209 

up  her  dress,  Madame  de  B ran  lightly 

down  the  stairs. 

_  "  Poor   thing !  "   thought  Panline.     "  I  be- 
lieve her  heart  is  heavy  for  all  that." 


210  Jupiter's  daughteks. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SPECULATIONS. 

"  One  woiild  think  she  wished  to  forget  she 
was  married,"  thought  Madame  Kendu  when 
Pauline  had  been  at  home  a  few  days. 

The  mother  meditated  gravely  as  she 
watched  her  daughter.  Pauline  had  resumed 
all  her  former  habits,  as  though  the  events  of 
the  last  eighteen  months  had  never  happened. 
Her  husband's  name  seldom  passed  her  lips. 
They  corresponded  regularly ;  but  unless 
questioned,  she  never  mentioned  him. 

Madame  de  Saye,  with  her  usual  foolhard- 
iness,  spoke  out  wliat  Madame  Rendu  thought. 
"  I  declare,  Pauliiie,  one  would  imagine  you 
were  trying  to  ft)rget  you  were  married  !  I 
shall  write  and  advise  Monsietir  Subar  to 
come  and  make  himself  remembered." 

Pauline,  in  her  gravest  voice,  said,  "I  advise 
you  to  let  Leon  and  me  decide  for  ourselves 
on  what  suits  us  best." 

ISTaturally,  being  repressed  in  one  quarter, 
Madame  de  Saye's  loquacity  rushed  at  full 
tide  in  every  otlier. 

But  while  St.  Gloi  was  speculating  whether 
Madame  Subar  was  on  the  eve  of  a  judicial  or 
amicable  separation,  or  her  liusband  was  en- 
tangled in  speculations  endangering   his  fort- 


SPECULATIONS.  211 

line,  Pauline  was  reo^aining  tranquillity  of 
mind.  The  bow  had  been  strained  to  its  ut- 
most, and  the  moment  had  arrived  when  it 
must  break  or  l)e  unbent.  Her  old  home  was 
just  what  she  required.  After  her  experience 
of  Paris,  she  better  understood  that  provincial 
life  which  she  had  once  found  so  cold.  There, 
attention  is  concentrated  on  what  does  not 
change  quickly ;  external  things  acquire  a 
sort  of  existence  of  their  own,  and  become  a 
treasure-house  for  memory.  The  habits  of 
life  which  had  once  seemed  so  poor  to  her 
were  now  a  restorative  and  balm.  They  had 
the  charm  of  some  old  melody  of  restricted 
compass — monotonous,  but  sweet. 

What  pleased  her  best,  however,  were  her 
walks,  or  those  long  hours  on  the  lake  with 
old  uncle  Adhcmar  for  her  sole  companion. 
Neither  felt  any  need  of  avowing  their  rever- 
ential affection  one  for  the -other.  Pauline 
understood  now  the  old  man's  life,  and  he 
guessed  that  she  had  measured  a  lance  with 
the  difficulties  of  life,  and  had  been  sorely 
wounded.  lie  never  questioned  her,  but  let 
her  have  the  solace  of  repose.  Uncle  Adhe- 
mar  knew  that  there  are  thoughts  not  to  be 
clothed  in  words — phantom  thoughts,  that  pass 
and  cannot  be  seized  ;  he  knew  that  these 
dreamy,  vague  reveries  were  in  themselves  a 
refuge  for  a  weary  spirit.  But  Madame  Jo- 
rey  was  ignorant  of  these  delicate  shades  of 
sympathy.  She  put  tJie  most  indiscreet  ques- 
tions with  her  usual  frankness.     She  wanted 


212  jupitek's  daughteks. 

to  know  the  particulars  of  the  last  scandal 
about  Yilpont,  an  outline  of  which  had  trav- 
elled to  her  throuMi  Madame  de  Save. 

"  Is  the  woman  very  prelty  ? — did  she  care 
for  him  ? — did  he  love  her  ? "  questioned  the 
old  god-mother,  who  dearly  loved  a  romance. 

"  Madame  de  B is  handsome  ;  but  as  to 

their  feelings  for  one  another,  I  cannot  say. 

From  a  few  words  Madame  de  B let  fall,  I 

believe  there  was  very  little  foundation  for  all 
the  evil  gossip." 

"  Then  I  give  him  up,"  said  Madame  Jorey, 
with  decision. 

"  Because  he  was  silly,  and  not  wicked  ?  " 
asked  Pauline,  with  a  smile. 

"  Go  along,  child  ?  what  do  you  know  of 
such  matters  ? " 

A  month  of  quiet  had  gone  quickly  by, 
when  Madame  Rendu  told  Pauline  that  if 
Leon  had  no  intention  of  coming  at  once  to  St. 
Gloi,  she  must  go  back  to  him. 

"  It  was  quite  understood  between  us  that 
he  would  join  me  as  soon  as  he  could,"  said 
Pauline. 

"  Well,  write  and  say  he  must  tell  you  his 
plans ;    the  wliole  town  is  speculating  about 
you.     The   Cure   has   told   me,   that    though 
some  say  you  have  quarrelled  with  your  hus-  ^ 
band,  many  more  assert  that  he  ordered  you  * 
to  leave  Paris." 

"  AYhy  need  we  mind  such  nonsense  ?  "  said 
Pauline. 

"  If  you  do  not  care  about  it,  I  do,  Pauline. 


SPECULATIONS,  213 

Such  nonsense,  as  you  call  it,  never  attached 
itself  to  me.  You  don't  know  the  world  as  I 
do ;  and  besides  that,  you  break  the  force  of 
habit,  the  strongest  of  all  ties,  and  teach  your 
husband  he  can  do  without  you." 

"  I  will  write,  mamma,"  and  so  Pauline  did, 
Leon  replied,  that  with  each  passing  hour  ru- 
mors of  war  were  becoming  louder  and  more 
generally  believed,  and  rendered  his  remain- 
ing in  Paris  absolutely  necessary. 

Madame  Pendu  looked  very  grave  as  she 
read  this  letter.  "  Can  you  guess  what  he 
means  ? " 

"  iSTot  in  the  least.  Leon  never  talks  to  me 
of  his  affairs." 

"  That  is  very  wrong,  and  must  be  your 
fault.  A  wife  ought  to  be  like  the  drag  on  a 
wheel,  and  keep  her  husband  from  running 
down-hiU." 

"  Had  I  asked  Leon  any  questions  about 
money-matters,  he  would  have  pinched  my 
cheek,  and  called  me  a  wise  kitten  or  a  silly 
kitten." 

"  And  whose  fault  is  it  if  he  looks  on  you 
in  such  a  light  ?  Do  you  think  your  father 
ever  thought  of  speaking  or  thinking  of  me  as 
a  kitten  f" 

Pauline  very  nearly  laughed,  it  seemed  so 
utterly  impossible  that  her  father  should  have 
had  sufficient  courao-e  to  venture  on  such  a 
liberty. 

Madame    Rendu    continued — ''Don't    rest 


214  jupitee's  daughters. 

satisfied  with  being  a  harmless  wife ;  show  you 
have  some  common-sense,  and  be  nseful." 

"  You  cannot  helieve,  mamma,  liow  differ- 
ent the  life  we  lead  is  to  yours,  Yery  often 
I  only  see  Leon  at  dinner." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.  Look  at  the  De 
Sayes,  always  together.  I  am  sure  he  never 
dreams  of  doing  anything  without  consulting 
Stephanie,  and  she  refers  all  her  difiiculties  to 
her  mother." 

"  But  you  see,  mamma,  Leon  is  Leon,  and  I 
am  not  Stephanie ;  I  have  no  turn  for  her  sort 
of  management.  And  then  the  De  Sayes 
live  in  the  country,  and  we  in  Paris.  Above 
all,  I  will  not  worry  Monsieur  Subar." 

Madame  Rendu  sighed ;  she  had  far  too 
much  perspicacity  to  waste  words,  but  she 
sent  Pauline  back  to  her  husband  under  the 
escort  of  M.  Pendu,  who  was  privately  ordered 
to  find  out  the  real  cause  which  kept  M.  Subar 
in  Paris. 

It  was  M.  Pendu's  first  visit  to  his  son-in- 
law's  house,  and  he  was  surprised  and  dazzled 
by  the  luxury  of  its  appointments.  At  the 
end  of  a  couple  of  days  lie  wrc^te  to  Madame 
Pendu  that  he  could  perceive  no  cause  for 
uneasiness.  Leon  had,  he  assured  her,  all  the 
good  spirits  which  belong  to  prosperous  men. 
Leon  had  a  talent  which  is  not  solely  the  ap- 
panage of  the  clever — where  the  motive  was 
personal,  he  could  keep  his  own  counsel. 

Madame  Pendu  replied  in  so  many  words, 
that  monsieur  had  better  remain  in  his  pleas- 


SPECULATIONS.  '   215 

ant  quarters  some  days  longer.  Slie  was  in 
the  midst  of  her  lessive  (a  portentous  wash), 
and  could  spare  him  witli  pleasure,  and  also 
with  advantage  to  himself. 

Will  any  one  who  was  in  Paris  on  the  16th 
July,  1 870,  ever  forget  that  day  ? 

Leon  came  in  for  the  mid-day  breakfast 
radiant.  He  was  a  handsome — nay,  a  very 
handsome  man;  and  now,  with  his  features 
lighted  up  with  joy  of  a  peril  escaped,  he 
might  have  stood  as  a  model  for  the  God  of 
Dav. 

""  Peace  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  peace !  and  there 
is  my  thank-offering,"  and  he  threw  a  purse 
into  'Pauline's  lap.  Now,  my  kitten,  go  to 
Worth  and  get  any  number  of  costumes,  and 
we  will  take  v/ing  for  Trouville.  Such  a  re- 
lief!  "  he  added,  addressing  his  father-in- 
law. 

M.  Kendu  was  startled  by  the  intense  ex- 
pression Leon  gave  to  the  words ;  he  under- 
stood, then,  that  some  peuil  had  been  escaped. 

Pauline  said  laughingly,  "  I  never  believe 
in  evil  till  it  comes." 

"  A  fine  politician  you  would  make ;  and 
they  talk  of  making  women  equal  with  men ! 
Trinquons^''  and  Leon  clinked  his  glass  against 
M.  Rendu's. 

"  Take  my  advice,  Leon,"  said  M.  Rendu, 
"  and  free  yourself  from  all  risks  while  it  is 
yet  time.  Whatever  danger  you  have  run 
may  reappei.r  to-morrow,  considering  the  situ- 
ation of  those  who  rule  us." 


216  JUPITER  S    DAUGHTERS. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  Leon  impatiently ; 
"  tmst  me,  I  know  what  I  am  about." 

M.  Rendu  wrote  an  account  of  this  little 
episode  to  his  wife,  and  then  went  out  with  his 
daughter  for  a  drive,  intending  to  return  to 
St.  Gloi  the  next  day. 

The  evening  papers  shot  a  thunderbolt  into 
every  household  in  Paris.  "  War  ! "  shouted 
Gramont.  "  The  majesty  of  France  has  been 
insulted — war  !  " 

At  first  Leon  refused  to  believe  his  paper. 
He  went  out  to  seek  for  intelligence,  and  re- 
turned like  a  maniac ;  he  stormed,  raved, 
swore,  tore  his  hair — wept.  When  Pauline 
made  an  attempt  to  obtain  some  explanation, 
this  hitherto  easy-tempered  husband  turned  so 
fiercely  on  her  that  M.  Pendu  placed  himself 
before  his  daughter. 

With  a  wild  oath  the  furious  young  man 
strode  out  of  the  room,  banging  the  door  with 
a  force  that  shook  the  house.  JSTever  had  Pau- 
line witnessed  befgre  a  scene  of  violence. 
She  sat  silent,  pressing  her  hand  on  her  heart 
to  still  its  beating ;  her  father,  scarcely  less 
agitated,  stood  by  her  stroking  her  hair. 

"  What  can  it  be,  papa  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  1  am  afraid  he  has  lost  money." 

"  Only  that  ?  " 

"  He  may  be  ruined,  my  poor  child." 

"  Oh  !  ruined,  papa,  that's  a  very  big  word. 
He  may  have  lost  something  ;  but,  you  know, 
he  is  very  rich." 

"We  must  try  to  hope  the  best,  my  dear. 


SPECULATIONS.  217 


Thank  God   your  old  father  will  always  be 
able  to  save  you  from  poverty." 

"But  what  would  mamma  say,  and  after  all 
her  trouble  to  get  rae  a  rich  husband,"  said 
Pauline,  with  a  bitter  recollection, 

*'  Hush !  your  mother  did  as  she  always 
does — for  the  best..  No  one  can  see  into  the 
future — we  walk  blindly  towards  our  fate. 
We  are  grieving  now  for  one  thing,  and  who 
knows,  Pauline,  what  other  sorrow  is  at  hand." 

"  1  am  not  really  grieving,  papa ;  at  least, 
not  about  the  money.  Leon  frightened  rae, 
and  I  am  sorry  for  him.  I  know,  papa,  that 
money  is  a  good  thing,  but  not  the  best  of  all 
things.  You  and  I  are  j)hilosophers,  papa ; 
you  used  to  say  so — do  you  remember  ? " 

Yes,  he  remembered,  and  more  than  Pauline 
dreamed  of.  They  sat  hand  in  hand  for  some 
time  ;  at  last  she  said,  "  Had  I  not  better  go 
and  see  after  Leon  ?  "  Nothing  proved  clear- 
er to  M.  Rendu  how  little  husband  and  wife 
were  to  each  other  than  this  question.  In  any 
trouble  his  wife  would  have  been  by  his  side, 
a  support  on  which  he  could  lean — somewhat 
hard  and  rugged  externally,  but  sound  at  the 
core. 

"  Certainly,  my  dear.  Perhaps  I  had  better 
go  with  you." 

"No,  papa;  I  am  not  afraid  now.  Poor 
Leon !  " 

She  came  back  almost  directly — "  Leon  is 
gone  out,  Joseph  says." 

"  Oh !  then  all  we  can  do  is  to  wait." 
10 


218  Jupiter's  daughters, 

"Waiting  was  easy  to  the  old  man ;  he  had 
]M'actised  patience  for  many  a  year  ;  hnt  Pan- 
line,  for  all  her  boast  as  to  her  philosophy, 
could  not  follow  her  father's  example. 

"  I  should  not  mind  what  it  was  so  that  I 
only  knew.  It's  the  unknown  that  frightens 
me,  just  as  I  am  frightened  to  be  left  in  the 
dark." 

M.  Rendu  had  recourse  to  the  newspaper, 
but  she  interrupted  him  very  soon. 

"  Papa,  you  must  have  seen  many  things  in 
your  life  ;  did  you  ever  meet  any  one  happy 
from  beginning  to  end  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  dear ;  I  believe  I  have  been  al- 
ways happy." 

To  M.  Pendu's  surprise  Pauline  threw  her 
arms  round  his  neck,  exclaiming,  "  Papa,  you 
are  an  angel !  "  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  It  will  do  you  good  to  cry,  my  poor  little 
girl." 

"  O  papa,  papa  !  what  a  blessing  to  have  a 
father  like  you  ! " 

Pauline  was  right ;  the  heart  of  a  good 
father  is  one  of  nature's  chef-cVoeicvres. 

Hours  went  by,  and  still  Ldon  did  not  re- 
turn. It  must  have  been  past  midnight  when 
Zelie  came  into  the  salon  with  a  letter. 

"When  did  it  come? — who  brought  it?" 
asked  Pauline. 

"  Monsieur  left  it  with  me,  with  orders  not 
to  give  it  to  madame  before  this  hour," 
answered  Zelie,  with  even  a  greater  assump- 
tion of  her  captive  princess  manner. 


SPECULATIONS.  219 

"Thank  you,  I  shall  not  require  you  to- 
niglit." 

Zeh'e  flounced  away  witli  suppressed  dignity. 

Pauline's  fingers  trembled  as  she  opened 
the  envelope.  She  first  read  the  enclosure  to 
herself,  and  then  handed  it  in  silence  to  her 
father.     The  note  ran  tlius  : — 

"  Cherie — It  is  a  cruel  necessity  which 
obliges  me  to  set  off  without  an  hour's  delay 
for  "Marseilles ;  I  hope  to  catch  the  next 
steamer  for  Alsjiers.  I  think  it  better  to  avoid 
seeing  you,  to  escape  the  explanations  which 
your  fatlier  might  believe  himself  entitled  to 
ask.  Besides,  I  shrink  from  your  tears,  and 
for  these  reasons  I  deny  myself  the  happiness 
of  embracing  ray  pretty  kitten.  You  will  re- 
main where  you  are  till  my  return,  which  will 
be  as  soon  as  practicable.  You  had  better  get 
rid  of  one  of  the  coachmen,  and  have  all  but 
your  own  horses  sold.  Joseph  will  see  to  that. 
You  must  not  wear  a  melaiuOioly  face,  and  do 
not  shut  yourself  up  ;  receive  every  one  as 
usual,  and  let  yourself  be  seen  driving  in  the 
Bois.  In  a  month,  or  six  weeks  at  longest,  I 
shall  be  home  again,  in  time  for  a  trip  in  the 
autumn  to  Berlin. 

"  Be  under  no  alarm,  it  will  be  easy  to  remedy 
my  present  mishap.  I  shall  not  write  again 
before  reaching  Algiers.  Zelie  has  her  orders 
when  to  deliver  this;  you  can  trust  her  in 
everything.  Au  7'evoir,  my  adoi-ed  angel.  I 
embrace  you  as  I  love  you.  Leon." 


220  jupitee's  daughters. 

"  Well  then,  my  dear,  I  suppose  the  wisest 
thing  we  can  do  is  to  go  to  bed." 

"  Good-night,  papa — dear  papa  !  "  was  all 
Pauline  said  ;  she  made  no  comments  on  the 
letter,  nor  did  her  father. 

Pauline  had  a  keen  sense  of  justice,  and  she 
was  asking  herself, "  Did  I  deserve  better  from 
him  ? " 


PLAYED AND   LOST.  221 

CHAPTER  X. 

PLAYED— AND   LOST. 

•  Pauline  ^vas  young,  indifferent  about 
money,  because  ignorant  of  its  value ;  and  be- 
ing relieved  of  any  fear  as  to  Leon's  safety, 
with  the  added  comfort  of  her  father  under 
her  roof,  she  slept  a  sound,  refreshing  sleep. 

M.  Rendu  not  being  young,  nor  ignorant  of 
the  value  of  money,  did  not  rest  so  well. 
From  the  manner  of  his  son-in-law's  departure, 
he  argued  the  existence  of  some  serious  and 
pressing  necessity,  probably  some  involvement 
through  one  of  the  mad  speculations  of  the 
day.  The  poor  father  lay  awake  composing  a 
letter  which  he  hoped  would  bring  his  wife  at 
once  to  Paris.  For  him  Pauline  was  still  a 
child,  and  to  leave  her  alone  in  that  large 
honse,  with  only  the  protection  of  servants, 
seemed  impossible.  His  letter  was  written  and 
sent  off  before  he  met  Pauline  at  breakfast. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  he  said,  "  that  Leon  has  de- 
sired you  to  remain  here ;  you  would  have 
been  far  safer  wirh  us  at  St.  Gloi." 

"  Much  happier,  at  any  rate,  papa.  As  to 
safety,  I  don't  think  Zelie,  with  all  her  ill-will, 
would  quite  run  the  risk  of  poisoning  me." 

"  Ill-will  ?  what  makes  you  think  she  has 
any  ill-will  towards  }'ou  ?  " 

"  It's  no  fancy,  papa ;    she  dislikes  me  be- 


222  Jupiter's  daughters. 

cause  I  am  Leon's  wife.  She  makes  me  under- 
stand in  all  sorts  of  ways  that  she  does  not  con- 
sider me  good  enough  for  him  ;  and  perhaps 
she  is  right." 

M.  Rendu  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  Pau- 
line's words  impressed  him  with  a  very  vivid 
desire  that  she  should  not  be  left  to  Madame 
Zelie's  guardianship. 

"  I  have  written  to  your  mother,  and  I  hope 
she  will  come ;  she  always  sees  what  is  best  to 
be  done." 

"  I  wish  you  could  both  stay  with  me  till 
Leon  returns." 

"  Perhaps  we  may — that  is  what  I  should 
propose.  And  now,  Pauline,  you  miist  think 
of  arranging  your  household  affairs.  What 
money  have  you  ?  " 

"  Zelie  manages  the  house  and  pays  the  bills, 
papa;  you  must  ask  lier." 

But  M.  Rendu  had  no  fancy  for  a  conference 
with  the  Algerine.  "  I  had  perhaps  better 
wait  till  your  mother  comes." 

Madame  Rendu  came  by  the  first  train  after 
receiving  his  letter.  She  was  even  more 
troubled  than  M.  Rendu  by  Leon's  mysterious 
night,  and  still  more  exasperated  by  his  desir- 
llig  Pauline  to  remain  in  Paris,  and  by  the 
prominence  given  to  Zelie. 

"All  your  fault,  Pauline;  I  told  you  what 
would  be  the  consequence  of  your  making 
yourself  of  no  use." 

"  1  might  have  been  more  active  in  house- 
keeping, mamma  ;  but  as  Leon  never  spoke  to 


PLAYED AND   LOST.  223 

me  of  his  affairs,  how  could  I  know  anything 
about  tliem  ? " 

"  Well,  well,  when  he  returns,  turn  over  a 
new  leaf  ;  it's  your  duty  to  prevent  his  having 
any  other  contidante  than  yourself.  That 
yellow  vixen,  I'll  be  bound,  knows  all  about 
this  matter  and  everything  else." 

"Take  care,  mamma,"  whispered  Pauline, 
her  eyes  glancing  round  at  the  numerous  doors, 
the  convenience  sometimes,  but  also  the  plague, 
of  French  houses. 

"  It's  abominable,"  said  Madame  Eendu ; 
"  she  shall  not  stay." 

"  We  must  wait  till  Leon  returns,"  was 
again  whispered  ;  "  and  pray,  don't  offend  her 
just  now,  mamma." 

"  What  a  silly  woman  you  have  been  !  "  was 
the  rejoinder.  "  Who  would  ever  have  sup- 
posed Stephanie  Jorey  had  double  your 
sense  ? " 

It  seemed  to  Pauline  that  every  one  united 
in  holding  up  Stephanie  as  a  mc^del  wife  to 
her.  It  was  rather  hard  to  bear,  after  being 
accustomed  for  years  to  hear  Stephanie 
spoken  of  as  half  a  fool. 

Leon's  orders  about  the  sale  of  his  horses 
were  carried  into  effect  without  Madame  Su- 
bar  being  informed  ;  indeed,  Zelie  made  it 
patent  that  she  considered  herself  left  in  au- 
thority even  over  her  mistress. 

Poor  Pauline  so  dreaded  her  mother's  re- 
proaches, that  she  strove  to  conceal  that  she 
was  a  mere  cipher — that  she  reigned  perhaps, 


224  jupitee's  daughtees. 

but  assured!}'  did  not  govern.  This  did  not 
suit  Zelie,  very  few  persons  had  ever  made 
this  half-African  woman  feel  herself  mas- 
tered ;  but  in  Madame  Rendu  she  was  aware 
she  had  met  her  match,  and  Madame  Rendu 
she  resolved  to  get  rid  of.  This  was  difficult, 
for  Madame  Rendu  was  blind  to  all  imperti- 
nence, and  deaf  to  the  most  transparent  hints. 
But  if  the  lady's  patience  was  inexhaustible, 
not  so  that  of  the  housekeeper.  Driven  to  ex- 
tremity, Zelie  at  last  told  Madame  Rendu,  in 
set  terms,  that  M.  Subar  had  not  taken  into 
account  any  increase  in  his  household  expen- 
diture ! 

"  If  you  are  in  want  of  money,  apply  to 
your  mistress — the  house  expenses  are  no  busi- 
ness of  mine,"  said  Madame  Rendu,  and 
walked  out  of  the  room  to  prevent  any  retort. 

"  Who  would  have  dreamed  of  a  child  of 
mine  being  in  such  a  situation  ? "  mused  Ma- 
dame Rendu.  "  And  yet  I  did  my  best;  but 
no,  she  would  not  be  satisfied  with  any  of 
those  we  knew  thoroughly,  she  must  have 
some  one  out  of  the  common  ;  and  I  vow  to 
Heaven  I  don't  believe  she  cares  a  straw  for 
Leon.  And  he — well — he  shall  at  least  be 
forced  to  get  rid  of  the  demon  he  has  placed 
over  my  poor,  silly  girl." 

Perhaps  at  this  time  it  dawned  on  the 
mother  that  a  girl's  feelings  merit  some  atten- 
tion ;  for  after  this  skirmish  with  Zelie  she 
Baid  to  M.  Rendu,  "  One  does  for  the  best,  and 
it  turns  out  for  the  worst,"  and  then  she  told 


PLAYED— AND    LOST.  225 

him  of  Zelie's  insolent  beliavior.  They  de- 
cided at  once  that  Pauline  must  be  snpplied 
with  money,  and  with  snch  precantions  as 
should  save  her  from  being  pillaged  by  the 
housekeeper. 

A  week,  and  then  ten  days  passed,  and  no 
news  from  Leon  ;  but  though  Pauline  won- 
dered  every  morning  that  there  was  no  Letter, 
she  was  clearly  not  at  all  nneasy. 

"  What's  the  use  of  anticipating  disasters, 
mamma?  no  one  is  ever  out  of  danger.  The 
horses  may  run  awa}^  with  us  to-day,  and 
break  our  arms  or  necks.  Time  enough  to 
grieve  when  grief  comes." 

This  period  was  full  of  trial  to  Madame 
Rendu  :  for  alas  !  she  could  not  rid  herself  of 
the  consequences  of  her  own  act — wlio  can  ? 
No  use  to  repeat  that  she  had  done  for  the 
best ;  there  was  a  barbed  arrow  in  her  breast. 
What  niight  not  arise  from  this  marriage 
without  love  ? 

However,  all  private  vexations  were  for  the 
time  being  thrown  into  shade  by  public  events. 
Pauline's  patriotic  ardor  had  no  bounds. 
Every  other  occupation  was  laid  aside  for  the 
reading  of  news[)apers.  From  morning  till 
night  she  was  engrossed  by  their  contents. 
She  was  wild  with  joy  at  the  success  of  Saar- 
brlicken,  "  I  knew  we  could  not  be  defeated," 
she  said,  tears  rolling  over  her  pale  cheeks. 

She  was  not  alone  in  her  joy  and  faith  that 
France  was  but  bei^inninr;;  a  series  of  victories. 
Every  one  knows  the  incredible,  the  sad  story 
10* 


226  jupitee's  daughtees. 

which  made  all  Europe  quake.  Still  the  cry 
went  up  to  heaven  that  not  a  German  should 
ever  recross  the  frontier. 

There  certainly  exists  among  mankind  be- 
ing's who  answer  to  henbane  and  niji'htshade 
in  the  vegetable  world.  Zelie  was  one  of 
these  abnormal  creatures  ;  she  distilled  venom 
from  the  virtues  that  brought  healthy  influ- 
ences to  others.  It  Avas  curious  to  watch  how 
this  hnman  belladonna  tortured  Pauline,  with 
venomous  subtlety  gathering  and  retailing 
every  sinister  rUraor.  It  was  Zelie  who 
brought  the  first  news  of  tlie  defeats  at  Worth, 
Froschweiler,  and  Gravelotte,  and  that  St. 
Gloi  was  occupied  by  Bavarian  troops.  At 
first  the  Rendus  and  Pauline  ti-eated  this  last 
bit  of  information  as  one  of  Zelie' s  inventions, 
for  they  now  all  understood  her  politics. 

"  It  is  a  ricse  to  get  rid  of  us,"  said  Madame 
Rendu  ;  but  a  few  hours  proved  that  it  was  Si 
fact,  a  sad  fact. 

M.  Rendu  at  once  declared  the  necessitv  of 
his  returning  to  look  after  his  house  and  prop- 
erty. St.  Gloi  being  an  open  town,  of  course 
no  resistance  could  be  offered  ;  but  men  and 
officers  would  be  billeted  on  the  inhabitants,  re- 
quisitions of  money  and  provisions  enforced. 

"  Stay  here,  papa,"  implored  Pauline. 
"  What  does  the  house  matter  ? — if  they  burn 
it  down,  we  can  get  another  ;  but  if  they  kill 
you,  where  shall  I  find  another  father  ?" 

She  wrung  her  hands  in  vain. 

"  I  must  go,  my  child  ;  you  do  not  under- 


PLAYKD — .VXD    LOST.  227 

stand  how  vital  it  is  for  all  of  us  that  I  should 
neglect  no  precautions  for  the  safety  of  our 
])r()pert3\" 

M.  Rendu  believed  with  too  much  reason 
that  his  daughter's  future  comfort  depended 
on  the  fortune  he  still  retained. 

Madame  Rendu  wavered  a  short  while 
whether  to  go  with  her  husband  or  stay  with 
her  daughter.  "  But  Pauline  is  safe  in  Paris," 
she  said,  "  and  my  place  is  by  my  husband's 
side  in  moments  of  trial." 

Up  to  this  moment  Madame  Rendu  had 
looked  on  herself  as  a  martyr  to  duty.  She 
had  outwardly  made  a  show  of  respect  to  M. 
Rendu  as  head  of  the  family,  but  inwardly 
she  had  held  him  unworthy  of  a  superior 
woman  such  as  she  was.  All  at  once  she  dis- 
covered, with  a  curious  sort  of  alarm,  that 
long  years  of  life  in  common  had  woven  a 
chain  as  strong  as  death,  and  that  without  the 
husband  she  had  mentally  despised  life  would 
have  no  meaning  for  her.  Another  of  the 
examples  of  how  many  things  in  the  world 
and  in  ourselves  are  only  known  by  the  re- 
sults. 

Pauline  accompanied  her  parents  to  the 
station.  They  wished  to  go  at  once  into  the 
\yaiting-room,but  she  begged  hard  for  another 
live  minutes — those  last  "five  minutes  passed 
in  watching  the  hands  of  the  clock  that  warns 
friends  of  the  moment  to  say  farewell.  The 
trio  were  pacing  up  and  down  the  platform, 
feeling  too  deeply  for  speech,  when  all  of  a 


228  Jupiter's  daughters. 

sndden  they  found  themselves  in  the  midst  of 
a  crowd  of  drunlven,  noisy,  excited  soldiers, 
fugitives  from  some  battle,  ignorant  of  the 
whereabouts  of  their  regiments,  clamorous, 
ready  for  any  deed,  good  or  bad. 

"  Entrez^  entrez  done,  monsieur  and  mes- 
dames,"  cried  the  guardian  of  the  waiting- 
room  ;  "  you  have  only  just  time." 

"  Come  with  us,  Pauline,"  cried  her  mother. 

Pauline,  her  heart  fluttering  with  terror, 
was  following  her  mother  when  the  same 
guardian  put  her  back  with  a  surly — "  But 
your  ticket."  No,  she  was  not  allowed  to 
pass  ;  and  as  for  her  venturing  back  to  get 
one,  there  could  be  no  question  of  it — the 
half-mad  soldiers  were  besieging  the  office. 

The  good-natured  woman  of  the  book-stall 
here  interfered,  and  said  she  would  take  care 
of  the  young  lady,  and  with  this  crumb  of 
comfort  parents  and  child  bid  one  another 
farewell . 

Piloted  by  her  self-constituted  protectress, 
Pauline  reached  her 'carriage  unmolested; 
but  she  was  to  witness  more  proofs  of  defeat 
before  she  reached  home.  On  one  of  the 
Places  on  her  road  there  was  a  great  gather- 
ing of  ])eople,  listening  with  marks  of  sympa- 
thy to  tlie  story  of  some  other  fugitives  from 
tlie  army.  This  time  the  men  were  dismounted 
dragoons,  their  gay  uniforms  torn  and  soiled 
— one  his  head  bandaged  with  a  bloody  rag, 
another  his  arm  in  a  sling  made  of  a  horse's 
girth — and  so  on,  all  in  sorry  plight.     A  col- 


PLAYED — AND   LOST.  229 

lection  was  being  spontaneously  made  for 
them,  when  some  one  cried  out,  "  Who  knows 
whether  they  are  not  Prussian  spies  ?  " 

The  supposition  was  eminently  absurd,  but 
at  such  moments  it  is  always  touch  and  go 
with  the  reason  of  a  crowd.  A  moment's 
pause,  and  then  the  bewildered  fugitives,  Inis- 
tied,  kicked,  knocked  down,  were  finally 
hauled  along  to  the  nearest  guard-house. 

As  Pauline  sat  lonely  in  her  large  salon^hev 
feelings  were  near  akin  to  those  of  one  ship- 
wrecked on  some  desert  island  ;  she  might  con- 
sider hei-self,  with  a  color  of  reason,  deserted 
by  father,  mother,  and  husband.  It  was  very 
quiet — no  noise  in  the  streets,  within  not  a 
sound,  not  even  any  of  those  daily  necessities 
of  social  life  which  interrupt  or  prevent  any 
lengthened  meditation  or  self-communion.  In 
these  solitary  hours  by-gone  hopes  flashed  past. 
She  said  good-by  to  tliem  with  the  loving  re- 
gret we  give  to  dead  friends.  "  I  have  played 
and  lost  the  o-reat  stake  of  a  woman's  life,"  she 
said — "  that  is  over.  The  future,  what  does  it 
hold  in  reserve  for  me?  But  after  all,  why 
speculate  about  it  ?  Time  goes  on  his  way  and 
settles  everything." 

Neither  that  day  nor  the  next  did  Pauline 
see  any  one.  Tliose  of  her  acquaintances  who 
had  not  already  left  Paris  were  probaljly  either 
packing  up  their  valuables,  or  sitting  through 
weary  hours  at  the  Prefecture  de  Police,  wait- 
ing for  tlieir  passports  to  be  signed.  She  had 
given  up  her  drives.     The  fright  experienced 


230  JUPITEe's    DAirGHTERS, 

on  the  day  of  M.  and  Mme.  Rendn's  departnre 
was  yet  too  recent  for  further  venturing  forth. 
"  I  walk  in  the  garden  at  tlie  back  of  the  house, 
going  round  and  round  like  a  squirrel  in  a 
cage,"  she  wrote  to  her  mother. 

No  letter  f  i-oni  Leon  by  the  mail ;  probably, 
then,  lie  would  arrive  in  person. 

It  was  on  the  first  of  September,  the  day  of 
the  fatal  march  to  Sedan.  France  was  breath- 
less with  expectation  of  a  crowning  victory,  and 
Pauline  gave  few  thoughts,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, to  Leon.  She  was  sitting  almost  buried 
in  newspapers,  when  she  was  startled  by  the 
now  unaccustomed  sound  of  the  visitor's  timhre, 
followed  by  the  appearance  of  an  old  acquaint- 
ance. M.  Belairs  was  the  son  of  the  principal 
banker  of  St.  Gloi,  one  of  the  many  suitors  she 
had  refused.  She  had  never  seen  him  since  her 
marriaii:e,  and  his  visit  alarmed  her.  With 
lightning  speed  her  imagination  conjured  up 
some  misfortune  to  her  parents.  But  M. 
Belairs  had  notliing  of  the  appearance  of  a 
messenger  of  evil.  lie  Avas  rosy,  fat,  and 
smiling — just  what  we  usually  call  "  the  pict- 
ure of  happiness." 

M.  Belairs,  on  his  side,  thought  Pauline  the 
very  personification  of  prosperity,  sitting  charm- 
ingly dressed  in  the  richly-furnished  salon  of  a 
fine  hotel,  between  court  and  garden.  It  struck 
him  that  she  was  prettier  than  formerly,  and 
he  was  laboring  with  a  compliment  that  should 
express  this  opinion,  when  the  timbre  sounded 
again. 


PLAYED — AND   LOST.  231 

"It  must  be  Monsieur  Subar!"  exclaimed 
Pauline,  starting;  to  her  feet. 

"Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Kerji^eac,"  an- 
nounced Joseph,  and  Vilpont  followed  the 
announcement.  lie  was  in  deep  mourninp^  for 
his  uncle,  looking;  thin  and  dejected,  a  com- 
plete contrast  to  the  sunny-faced  banker's  son. 

'^  Monsieur  Belairs  is  from  St.  Gloi,"  said 
Pauline,  "and  brings  me  excellent  news." 

"  Mais  oui,  monsieur,''''  and  off  went  Mon- 
sieur Belairs,  repeating  what  he  had  just  told 
Pauline. 

Vilpont  (as  he  shall  still  l)e  called,)  drew  his 
chair  back  out  of  M.  Belairs'  sight,  and  shook 
his  head  as  if  in  warning,  but  contradicted 
nothing.  Pauline  understood  that  Vilpont 
had  also  come  on  some  mission.  He  sat  silent, 
bitinii  the  ends  of  his  mustache,  as  was  his 
habit  when  annoyed. 

At  last  Monsieur  Belairs  remembered  he  had 
no  more  time  to  spare,  as  he  was  to  return  to 
St.  Gloi  by  the  afternoon  train. 

He  was  no  sooner  out  of  hearing  than  Vil- 
pont said,  "The  sooner  you  quit  Paris  the 
better — this  evening  rather  than  to-morrow 
morning — all  that  idiot  said  is  mere  nonsense; 
the  most  alarming  rumors  are  current,  and  I 
assure  you  it  is  no  longer  safe  for  you  to  re- 
main here." 

"  But  your  rumors  may  have  no  more  truth 
in  them  Ihan  those  of  poor  Monsieur  Belairs," 
said  Pauline.  "  Besides,  I  am  hourly  expect- 
ing  Monsieur   Subar's   arrival ;    and   he    bid 


232  Jupiter's  daughters, 

me  in  his  last  letter  on  no  account  to  leave 
Paris." 

'''  At  that  time  he  conld  never  have  di'eamed 
of  the  marcli  of  the  Prussians  on  Paris." 

Pauline  actually  laughed.  "  1  almost  wish 
they  would  come,  it  might  be  as  good  a  way  of 
getting  rid  of  them  as  any  other.' 

"  My  dear  Madame  Subar,  even  if  we  should 
defeat  them,  Paris  lighting  can  be  no  fit  place 
for  you," 

"I  am  not  afraid,"  said  Pauline.  "I  shall 
stay,  Monsieur  Vilpont.  Though  I  am  only  a 
woman,  I  can  do  something  for  my  countrv. 
I  can  help  the  wounded  ;  besides,  why  should  I 
place  more  reliance  on  what  you  say  than  on 
Monsieur  Bel  airs'  news  ?  He  comes  from  the 
very  neighborhood  of  the  war." 

"'  Because  Monsieur  Belairs  belongs  to  the 
very  large  class  C)f  persons  who  think  they  get 
rid  of  an  evil  by  ignoring  its  existence." 

Pauline  had  addressed  him  in  a  cool  tone 
bordering  on  contempt,  and  an  entire  want  of 
friendliness  in  her  manner.  He  was  at  a  loss 
to  understand  this,  having  entirely  foi-gotten 

the  unlucky  scandal  about  Madame  de  B . 

He  rose  to  take  his  leave,  and  advanced  to- 
wards her  with  an  outheld  hand.  She  made 
as  though  she  did  not  perceive  the  gesture,  and 
with  a  slight  1)Ow,  said,  "Adieu,  monsieur." 

Vilpont  had  reached  the  dcxn-  when,  moved 
by  a  sudden  impulse,  he  turned  back  and  said, 
"  ILnv  have  I  had  the  misfortune  to  offend  you, 
Madame  Subar  ? " 


PLAYED AND    LOST.  233 

"  Pardon  me,  I  am  not  offended — how  could 
I  be?"  she  asked,  with  what  she  intended  for 
a  smile,  but  which  was  instead  a  sarcastic  curl 
of  her  lip. 

"  That  is  not  sincere — not  like  yourself,"  ho 
rejoined,  his  eyes  fixed  on  hers.  Pauline  was 
yet  to  Vilpont  the  only  woman  he  would  have 
wished  for  his  wife.  He  had  retained  a  tender 
interest  in  her,  and,  contradictory  as  it  might 
seem  on  the  surface,  he  had  let  himself  drift 

into  troubled  waters  with  Madame  de  B • 

to  keep  Pauline  out  of  the  chances  of  tempta- 
tion. A  deed,  to  be  good,  however,  must  be 
innocent ;  but  in  judging  Vilpont  we  must 
remember  that  no  one  escapes  the  influence  of 
the  atmosphere  in  which  he  lives,  and  he  had 
breathed  long  and  constantly  the  perfume  of 
the  Flowers  of  Evil. 

With  the  same  old  impetuosity  which 
Madame  Rendu  used  to  call  insufferable,  Pau- 
line flashed  out,  "No,  I  am  not  sincere  in  say- 
ing I  am  not  offended.  I  think  you  behaved 
atrociously  to  Madame  de  B ." 

Vilpont   exclaimed,   "Madame   de  B ! 

Chere  dame,  you  are  all  wrong ;  yon  are  accus- 
ing the  lamb  of  devouring  the  wolf." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  anything  on  the  sub- 
ject. You  asked  me  to  be  sincere,  and  I  have 
answered  you.  Nothing  you  could  say  would 
change  my  opinion,  1  am  sorry  because  we 
can  no  longer  be  friends." 

"But  I  cannot  submit  to  that  award.  I  am 
no  worse  than  any  of  the  other  men  you  re- 


234  JDPITEE  S    DAUGHTERS. 

ceive;  no  worse,  I  am  sure,  than  that  fat 
acquaintance  of  jours,  wlio  has  so  successfully 
impressed  you ;  you  really  have  no  right  to 
banish  me  more  than  all  the  rest." 

Pauline  turned  on  him,  "  How  have  you  the 
courage  to  address  me  in  this  way  ? — Adieu,  M. 
Vilpont." 

They  had  botli  been  standing  during  this 
dialogue ;  Yilpont  hesitated  a  moment  after 
receiving  this  dismissal,  then  he  stooped  down, 
kissed  the  hem  of  her  dress,  and  said,  "  This 
may  be  the  last  time  we  ever  meet,  and  I  will 
not  go  without  telling  you  how  sincerely  I 
admire  and  revere  you.  Ah !  Pauline,  I  lost 
my  cliance  of  happiness  when  I  lost  you." 

lie  was  gone  without  waiting  for  another 
word  from  her. 

Pauline  stood  as  he  had  left  her,  almost  as 
stiff  and  cold  as  thouo-h  she  had  been  turned 
to  stone.  It  might  have  been  hours,  it  might 
have  been  minutes,  for  any  count  she  had 
taken  of  time,  when  Zelie's  entrance  roused 
her.  Then  she  turned  away,  and  flung  her- 
self face  downwards  on  the  nearest  sofa. 

"Madame  is  ill?"  asked  Zelie  in  an  un- 
friendly voice. 

"  Not  ill,  but  frightened.  I  don't  know 
what  I  ought  to  do.  The  Prussians  are  ad- 
vancing on  Paris." 

"  Madame  must  be  Prussian  in  heart  to  be- 
lieve that,"  retorted  Zelie  insolently. 

"  Arc  you  out  of  y<uir  senses  that  you  speak 
to  me  in  such  a  tone  ?  "  asked  Pauline,  sitthig 


PLAYED — AND   LOST,  235 

np  and  faciiio;  her  adversary,  her  inward  pain 
showing  itself  in  the  shape  of  anger. 

Zelie,  as  slie  lierself  expressed  it,  fell  from 
the  clouds.  Madame  had  become  a  mouton 
enrage.  But  Zelie  recovered  something  of 
decent  politeness ;  she  was  no  exception  to  the 
rule  that  the  overbearing,  insult  where  tliey 
dare,  and  draw  in  their  lioi-ns  where  they  dare 
not,  butt.  It  was  another  woman  in  difficulty 
and  anger  who  remarked,  "  that  little  spirits 
always  accommodate  themselves  to  the  temper 
of  those  they  would  work  upon — will  fawn 
upon  the  sturdy-tempered  person,  and  will  in- 
sult the  meek."  * 

Pauline's  outburst  of  anger  had  not  soothed 
her  own  feelings.  Who  ever  wounded  another 
without  feeling  a  counterblow  ?  She  could  not 
endure  her  solitude;  she  wanted  to  get  rid  of 
all  self-communing;  she  had  that  desire  of 
movement  which  seizes  on  us  after  any  great 
mental  emotion.  She  would  go  out,  and  try 
to  see  if  there  were  any  signs  of  alarm  in  the 
streets.  She  found  all  the  great  thorough- 
fares, such  as  the  Champs  Elysees  and  the 
Boulevards  nnusually  quiet,  and  returned 
home,  fatio;ued  in  bodv  but  reassured  in  mind. 
There  is  a  great  analogy  between  nature  and 
M'ar  :  hurricanes  in  the  one,  and  violent  convul- 
sions in  the  other,  are  preceded  by  calms. 

The  next  morning  Zelie  burst  into  her  mis- 
tress's room,  crying  out: 

*  Richardson's  Clarissa. 


236  jupitek's  daughters. 

"  Madame,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Wliat  is 
to  become  of  us  ?  We  are  defeated  ;  the 
Emperor  " — here  a  gross  gesture  of  contempt — 
"has  given  ]iimself  up  to  that  monster,  Wil- 
liam ;  the  Prussians  are  close  to  Paris." 

"  Impossible  !  "  Pauline  exclaimed,  as  so 
many  have  done  and  will  do,  when  told  of 
some  unexpected,  overpowering  misfortune. 

"  But,  madame,  it  is  true.  There  is  a  Pevo- 
lution  ;  what  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

A  general  frenzy  reigned  in  Paris.  But 
clever  pens  have  sufficiently  described  this 
period — a  period  which  was  fruitful  of  every 
phase  of  human  credulity — of  heroism,  of 
imbecility,  of  contempt  for  facts ;  of  every  ex- 
treme of  good  and  bad. 


BON  SECOURS.  237 

CHAPTER  XL 

BON    SECOTJKS. 

No  time  ■now  for  vain  regrets,  for  dreams, 
for  introspection.  It  was  a  moment  which 
taxed  every  one's  indgment. 

Twenty-four  hours  had  made  it  too  late  for 
Pauline  to  go  to  St.  Gloi.  The  railway  was 
entirely  given  up  to  troops,  and,  in  addition, 
the  German  army  was  also  approaching  by 
that  very  route.  The  road  to  England  was 
still  open,  hut  she  had  all  a  Frenchwoman's 
horror  of  placing  the  sea  between  her  and 
France.  The  few  persons  of  her  acquaintance 
still  in  Paris  advised  her  to  do  as  thev  were 
doing  and  cross  the  channel ;  while  her  trades- 
people assured  her  she  was  as  safe  in  her  hotel 
as  she  could  be  anywhere.  A  siege !  They 
laughed  the  idea  to  scorn.  Want  of  provisions, 
maddest  of  all  suppositions. 

Pauline  wished  to  remain,  and  she  found,  as 
every  one  does,  reasons  in  plenty  by  which  to 
bolster  up  her  wish.  Though  masters  had 
fled,  concierges  remained  ;  then  why  sliould 
she  be  afraid  to  do  the  same  ?  A  concierge 
was  as  easily  killed  as  a  duke,  and  having  also 
but  one  life,  would  be  as  chary  of  that  life  as 
his  Grace.  Her  own  servants  when  questioned 
declared  they  had  no  fear,  and  would  willingly 
stay  and  run  whatever  risk   there  might  be. 


238  JUPlTEIi's    DAUGHTERS, 

Of  course  when  tliey  said  so,  they  did  not  be- 
lieve in  the  likelihood  of  serious  privation  or 
dano-er. 

At  this  moment  Zelie  was  in  her  best 
humor.  She  had  chained  experience  of  war  in 
Alwria,  and  she  set  about  at  once  layinc:  in 
large  stores  of  provisions  that  ^^'ould  keep. 
She  obtained  credit  easily,  for  neither  she  nor 
her  mistress  would  have  had  the  means  to  pay 
for  all  that  was  stored  in  every  closet  of  the 
hotel.  Xor  did  she  neglect  to  till  wood  and 
coal  cellars.  Of  wine  there  was  already  a 
plentiful  supply. 

A  day  later  an  evening  paper  mentioned  the 
arrival  of  a  mail  from  Algiers.  It  brought  a 
few  hurried  lines  from  M.  Subar.  He  hoped 
to  start  by  the  steamer  in  the  ensuing  week. 
He  was  well.  Pauline  was  to  keep  up  her 
s])irits.  He  had  managed  to  settle  his  affairs 
tolerably  to  his  satisfaction.  He  concluded 
with  a  stupid  imprecation  on  Germany,  and  a 
"  Je  vous  emhrasseP 

Pauline  smiled  as  she  refolded  the  letter,  one 
of  those  smiles  that  are  as  sad  as  tears,  and 
then  sent  for  Zelie  to  bid  her  prepare  for  M. 
Suljar's  return. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  Germans,  and 
still  all  Paris  ridiculed  the  idea  of  a  siege, 
Cominunication  l)y  post  with  all  parts  of  the 
country  was  open,  and  as  long  as  people  re- 
ceived and  could  send  letters — as  long  as  they 
could  £ro  in  and  out  of  the  gates— no  one  l)e- 
lieved  it  could  be  ever  otherwise.     The  prov- 


BON    8ECOTTES.  239 

inces  breathed  nothing  but  war  to  the  knife, 
and  were  as  incredulous  as  the  Parisians  as  to 
the  possibility  of  a  siege  en  regie. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Rendu  wrote  daily, 
requiring  equal  diligence  from  Pauline.  They 
were  stricken  with  tlie  universal  blindness. 
"  Send  your  diamonds  to  the  bank,"  advised 
Madame  Rendu.  "  It  is  just  the  moment 
for  thieves  to  congregate  in  Paris."  Of  actual 
starvation,  of  bombs,  of  death  from  cold,  none 
even  of  the  most  determined  prophesiers  of 
evil  ever  thought. 

Zelie  dissuaded  her  mistress  from  at  once 
taking  her  mother's  advice.  It  would  be 
better  to  wait  till  M.  Subar  arrived.  AVhether 
Zelie  had  any  formed  design  or  not  when  she 
thus  spoke,  must  remain  for  ever  unknown. 
Opportunity  often  makes  the  crime.  But  it  is 
safe  to  believe  that  neither  good  nor  bad  qual- 
ities reveal  themselves,  M'ithout  having  in  some 
way  previously  betrayed  their  existence. 
Characters  do  not  change  by  sudden  explo- 
sions. 

Madame  de  Saye  would  have  been  on  her 
guard,  because  Madame  de  Saye  had  all  the 
suspiciousness  which  belongs  to  a  narrow 
mind,  and  which  acquired  for  her  the  reputa- 
tion of  good  sense.  She  trusted  no  one  further 
than  she  could  see  with  her  own  eyes.  She 
was  fond  "  of  wandering  from  house  to  house, 
a  tattler  and  a  busybody,  speaking  things  she 
ought  not,"  in  one  word  commonplace,  and 
consequently  popular.     Whereas  Pauline  had 


24:0  Jupiter's  daughters. 

in  her  the  spirit  of  a  reformer,  was  opposed  to 
existing  usages  and  gave  offence,  such  opposi- 
tion being  regarded  as  a  mark  of  contempt,  an 
assumption  of  supei'iority.  Slie  had,  besides, 
conscientiousness  in  excess,  and  because  she 
disliked  Zelie,  was  on  her  guard  lest  such  dis- 
like should  betray  her  into  an  injustice.  Zelie 
was  clever  enough  to  nnderstand  this  delicacy 
of  her  mistress's  conscience,  and  mean  enough 
to  take  advantage  of  it.  So  the  diamonds  re- 
mained where  they  were. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  Germans,  and 
still  Paris  scoffed  at  the  probability  of  a  siege. 

Another  ten  days  went  by  and  bronght  not 
a  line  from  Leon  to  account  for  his  absence. 
Pauline,  just  as  she  would  have  done  had  the 
same  thing  occurred  to  an  acquaintance,  found 
excuses  and  framed  explanations  for  this  curi- 
ous conduct. 

"  Madame's  feelino^s  for  Monsieur  will  never 
turn  her  hair  gray,"  remarked  Zelie. 

Pauline,  in  fact,  was  not  herself  aware  that 
her  equanimity  under  the  circumstances  was 
extraoi'dinary.  She  snifered  from  none  of 
those  thrills  and  presentiments,  shadows  al- 
wavs  in  attendance  on  everv  strong  affection. 

In  the  meantime,  what  had  seemed  more 
unlikely  to  liappen  than  that  tlie  tower  of  Ba- 
bel should  reach  heaven  became  an  undenia- 
ble fact.  Paris  was  hemmed  in  by  a  circle  of 
iron.  Iso  more  letters  from  without.  Those 
who  were  within  were  cut  off  from  the  rest  of 
the  world.     Still  every  one  said  and  every  one 


BON    8EC0URS.  241 


believed  that  this  state  of  things  could  not  last. 
There  was  excitement,  agitation,  but  no  dis- 
couragement, Not  one  soul  ever  contemplated 
the  possibility  of  a  capitulation.  In  the  city 
was  abundance  of  provisions,  sufficient  for 
the  necessities  of  months.  There  was  an 
army  within  tlie  gates  sufficient  for  defence. 
MacMahon  and  Bazaine  would  come  to  the 
rescue.  The  Germans  would  lind  themselves 
in  a  trap.  Bazaine  was  then  the  man  of  the 
liour.     Trochu,  a  demi-god.     Times  change. 

A  cursory  observer  would  have  disco^-ered 
nothing  unusual  in  the  streets  during  the  day ; 
it  was  only  at  night  that  Paris  looked  unlike 
itself.  By  ten  o'clock  all  the  cafes  were  closed, 
the  Boulevard  silent  and  deserted. 

Xaturall}'  all  the  usual  pleasures  or  occupa- 
tions of  life,  to  speak  only  of  private  life,  had 
become  impossible.  Men  congregated  to  dis- 
cuss events  or  probabilities.  Women  either 
passed  their  days  in  running  after  news,  or, 
like  Pauline,  obeyed  the  call  of  doctors  and 
hospitals,  and  prepared  bandages  and  lint. 
But  throuo-h  all  business  or  idleness  there  ran 
a  current  of  excitement  not  by  any  means  un- 
pleasant— the  excitement  of  playing  a  great 
part,  with  all  Europe  for  spectators. 

One  day  Pauline  received  a  note  from  Yil- 
pont — a  few  lines,  advising  her  to  display  the 
Geneva  flag  from  her  window,  and  to  pre])are 
beds  for  the  wounded  in  her  outhouses.  The 
sight  of  his  handwriting,  and  the  conviction 
which  she  now  had — that  he,  in  a  manner, 
11 


242  jupitee's  daughtees. 

watched  over  her — moved  her  beyond  conceal- 
ment. Zelie  had  remained  in  the  room  after 
delivering  the  note,  and  marked  Pauline's 
change  of  color,  and  the  tears  that  involun- 
tarilv  filled  her  eves.  Looking  up  suddenly 
she  cauglit  the  cat-like,  treacherous  vigilance 
of  Zelie's  face.  The  two  women  stared  fixedly 
at  one  another,  and  Zelie  knew  that  Pauline 
had  penetrated  her  secret  feeling.  Once 
fairly  put  on  her  self-defence  Pauline  was  no 
coward.  She  said  calmly,  but  with  command 
in  her  voice.'' 

••  I  am  advised  to  hang  out  a  Geneva  flag, 
and  to  prepare  beds  for  the  wounded." 

"  And  how  does  madame  intend  to  manage 
about  the  nursing  {  " 

"  You  will  see,""  was  the  quiet  reply. 

That  very  day,  to  Zelie's  unmistakable  an- 
noyance, two  sisters  of  Bon  Seconrs  came  to 
stay  in  the  house.  One  of  them  was  past  mid- 
dle-age ;  the  other — young,  bright,  and  pretty. 
Their  companionship  gave  Pauline  a  feeling 
of  protection ;  and,  besides  that,  they  put  in 
good  working-order  her  crude  efforts  at  organ- 
izing a  limited  hospitah  There  were  not  only 
beds  put  in  the  coach-house,  but  all  the  costly 
furniture  of  the  great  saJyjn  was  removed  to 
the  attics,  and  a  row  of  small  hospital  beds  lined 
each  side. 

Zelie  did  not  allow  this  to  be  done  without 
protesting,  but  Pauline,  saying,  "  I  alone  give 
orders  here  in  M.  Subar's  absence,"  set  her  on 
one  side. 


BON  SECorES.  243 

"Toil  now,  I  by  and  by,"  muttered  Zelie. 

The  sisters  were  like  two  big  children  in 
everytliing  that  did  not  relate  to  their  calling. 
Chocolate,  bon-bons,  and  oranges  had  high 
places  in  their  tariff  of  pleasures.  They  de- 
li"-hted  in  hearins'  and  tellinaj  marvellous  sto- 
Ties,  and  thouijh  thev  often  alluded  to  the  other 
world,  certainly  thoroughly  enjoyed  this  one. 
If  anv  circumstance  brought  too  vividlv  to 
their  knowledge  tliat  sin,  sorrow,  suffermg  ex- 
isted, they  would  say  something  sweet  about 
strayed  lambs,  or  tliat  we  should  rejoice  in 
tribulation,  or  that  all  pain  was  but  for  a  time. 
Their  spirits  were  never  damped  by  vivid  sym- 
pathy ;  they  were  too  much  set  apart  by  their 
vocation,  to  enter  keenly  into  the  joys  or  afflic- 
tions they  came  in  contact  with.  Pauline  had 
alreadv  noted  this  same  deficiencv  of  human 
interest  in  Madame  xVgnes. 

Sister  Madeleine,  the  elder  of  the  two,  had 
an  amazing;  knowledofe  of  bodilv  ailments.  She 
was  a  complete  pharmacopoeia,  trottmg  from 
morninir  till  nis-ht  on  two  stnrdv  le^s.  Her 
only  apparent  imperfection  was  a  gentle  con- 
tempt for  all  other  gifts  than  her  own.  Pretty 
Sister  Prudence  was  at  this  time  going 
through  lier  probation. 

Gambetta's  departure  in  a  balloon  excited 
both  sisters  to  the  hii^hest  deirree.  At  the  idea 
of  his  flying  over  the  head  of  ces  monstres  de 
Prussiens,  they  laughed  till  they  cried,  and 
then  wept  over  the  dictators  possible  danger, 
until  they  were  again  tickled  by  the  oddity  of 


244  jtjpitee's  daughters. 

the  situation.  Pauline  delighted  in  them,  it 
was  so  long  since  she  had  felt  sure  of  any  one 
about  lier. 

This  period  of  comparative  peace  and  plenty 
jjassed  away,  but  not  the  Germans.  The  gir- 
dle of  iron  pressed  closer  and  closer,  soon  fol- 
lowed by  decrees  limiting  supplies  of  fresh 
provisions ;  ambulance-carriages  multiplied  in 
number,  and  were  in  constant  activity.  The 
sisters  ceased  to  have  leisure  for  chattering — 
no  more  merry  laughs — they  went  about  with 
the  faces  that  belong  to  the  serious  side  of 
nature.  All  the  beds  in  the  outhouses  were 
filled,  and  many  of  the  salon.  Every  one, 
from  the  lady  of  the  house  to  the  scullion,  had 
their  hands  full.  Zelie  alone  avoided  the 
wounded,  and  so  to  her  was  entrusted  the  task 
of  providing  food  for  the  pretty  numerous 
household. 

B}'  the  last  days  of  October,  the  amount  of 
fresh  meat  allowed  to  each  person  was  only 
fift}'  grammes. 

In  Novembei',  Pauline  was  applied  to  for 
her  horses.     She  gave  them  at  once  as  a  gift. 

"  What  will  monsieur  say,  and  he  paid  so 
much  for  them,"  remonstrated  Zelie. 

"  Monsieur  would  have  done  the  same,  I  be- 
lieve ;  at  any  i-ate,  I  could  not  sell  the  poor 
animals'  lives." 

Pauline  had  sent  several  balloon  letters  to 
her  parents,  but  without  receiving  any  in  re- 
tui-n.  Two  l(jng  months  she  had  been  without 
any  news  of  them  or  her  husband. 


BON    SECOURS.  2-i5 

Though  Yilpont  had  never  repeated  his 
visit,  he  had  called  several  times  at  the  lodge 
of  the  concierge  to  inquire  for  her.  But  now 
these  calls  and  inquiries  ceased.  It  never 
came  into  her  mind  to  fancy  the  omission 
proceeded  from  forgetfulness  or  negligence. 
Iler  woman's  instinct  would  never  let  her 
make  such  a  mistake.  She  guessed  at  once 
that  he  must  have  taken  up  a  musket,  as  so 
many  others  like  him  were  doing.  She  re- 
flected long  whether  any  misapprehension  of 
her  motives  could  arise  if  she  sent  Joseph  to 
his  address  to  make  some  inquiries.  After 
hesitating  for  several  days,  she  suddenly  gave 
Joseph  the  commission.  Zelie,  with  her  usual 
mocking  smile,  brought  her  the  answer,  that 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  de  Kergeac  was  on  duty 
with  his  regiment  of  Mobiles. 

"  Then  I  must  let  Joseph  try  to  do  me  the 
service  I  intended  to  ask  of  M.  de  Kergeac. 
Send  your  husband  to  me." 

"  Not  so  stupid  after  all,"  muttered  Zelie. 

"  Joseph,"  said  Pauline,  "  I  have  seen  a 
notice  that  by  paying  a  franc,  an  answer,  yes 
or  no,  to  four  questions,  wnll  be  conveyed  to 
the  provinces  from  Paris  by  pigeon.  You  will 
go  to  one  of  the  offices  and  send  the  four 
questions  I  have  written  down  on  this  paper." 

"  Zelie  would  manage  better  than  I  should," 
said  Joseph  with  a  dennirring  air. 

"  You  can  go  together  if  you  please,"  she 
answered,  sick  at  heart  at  ha  vine:  no  better 
assistance  in  her  need. 


24f)  Jupiter's  daughters. 

Husband  and  wife  had  thonght  it  wiser  to 
obey ;  no  saying  what  might  occur.  So  in  a 
few  days  Pauline  knew  that  her  father  and 
mother  M'ere  well,  and  that  they  had  had  news 
of  Leon. 

The  pigeon  carriers  played  the  same  part 
as  the  agony  column  of  the  Times.  They 
ought  to  have  earned  eternal  gratitude  from 
all  French  people.  To  kill  a  pigeon  should 
be  classed  by  them  among  crimes. 

Greater  and  greater  difficulty  in  obtaining 
food.  The  number  she  fed  daily  had  reduced 
Pauline's  stores  alarmingly.  The  cold  was 
intense,  and  how  could  she  refuse  to  share  food 
and  fuel  with  those  who  had  none. 


THE   CRASH    OF   LIFE.  247 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   CRASH    OF   LIFE. 

The  thirtieth  November  was  a  date  that,  as 
long  as  she  lives,  Pauline  will  never  forget. 
The  date  when  all  the  emotions  of  her  being 
vibrated  to  their  utmost. 

Ducrot  had  succeeded  in  getting  his  troops 
across  tlie  Marne,  and,  after  twelve  hours' 
hard  ho-litin"-,  had  driven  the  Prussians  from 
their  positions,  occupying  m  the  evennig  the 
ground  held  by  the  enemy  in  the  morning.  It 
might  have  been  expected  that  Paris  would 
have  been  greatly  agitated  by  such  news,  and 
with  the  hope  that  the  second  day  might  be 
equally  prosperous.  But  the  truth  is,  popular 
feeling  rarely  follows  a  logical  course.  On 
this  St.  Andrew's  day,  when  the  destiny  of  the 
city  for  good  or  evil  was  trembling  in  the  bal- 
ance, there  were  no  signs  of  excitement  visible 
in  the  streets. 

Perhaps  tlie  intense  frost,  the  biting  wind, 
together  with  hunger,  accounted  for  the 
absence  of  public  animation.  It  is  well,  surely, 
that  the  body  should  make  its  weakness  felt, 
so  as  to  numb  the  anxieties  of  the  heart. 

Towards  evening,  however,  multitudes 
thronged  as  usual  to  the  different  city  gates  to 
await  the  arrival  of  the  ambulance  carriages. 
Pale  mothers,  wives,  children,  and  graybeards 


248  Jupiter's  daughters. 

stood  with  dry,  impatient,  straining  eyes, 
shuddering  witii  terrified  anticipation. 

On  that  evening,  for  the  first  time,  Pauline 
went  down  into  the  avenne,  joining  a  group 
that  had  gathered  before  her  door.  All  day 
she  had  been  unusually  restless,  unable  to  stay 
in  one  place  for  five  minutes  together,  shrink- 
ing with  unaccustomed  dread  from  attending 
on  the  wounded. 

"  I  feel  as  if  something  frightful  was  about 
to  happen,"  she  said  to  Sister  Madeleine. 

"  You  have  done  too  much,  dear  madame  ; 
yon  must  lie  down  and  rest." 

"  Lie  down ! "  exclaimed  Pauline  im- 
patiently, "  and  be  suffocated  by  this  fear  tliat 
oppresses  me." 

Sister  Madeleine  had  no  time  for  discussion, 
but  forced  Pauline  to  swallow  some  sal  vola- 
tile. 

With  a  shawl  over  her  head  she  stood  trem- 
bling at  her  door,  catching  at  every  word  being 
bandied  about.  I^ow,  it  was  affirmed  that 
Ducrot  and  all  the  generals  were  killed.  A 
second  later,  there  was  a  hum  of  triumph. 
The  French  were  victorious.  A  man  rumiino; 
past,  called  out,  "  The  Mobiles  are  massacred 
— cut  down  to  a  man  !  " 

All  of  a  sudden  there  emerged  from  out  of 
the  darkness  a  ciy  of,  "  Laissez  jMSser  !  " 
The  groups  separated  right  and  left,  and  every 
one  recognized  what  was  a  familiar  sight — 
men  carrying  an  hospital  stretcher,  on  which 
lay  a  form  covered  with  a  sheet. 


THE   CRASH    OF   LIFE.  249 

"  Numero  99  ? "  askerl  a  voice. 

"  Here,"  was  answered  in  chorus,  and  the 
court-yard  doors  were  thrown  open. 

"But  we  have  not  a  bed  vacant,"  cried 
Sister  Madeleine,  rnnning  forward  with  a  light 
in  her  hand. 

"  It  does  not  matter  ;  he  does  not  need  one. 
The  body  was  brought  in  by  some  of  his  men, 
and  as  this  address  was  fastened  on  his  coat,  it 
has  been  sent  on  here." 

Already  become  a  thing — an  it — Sister 
Madeleine's  feeble  light  fell  on  the  face,  from 
which  the  hospital  aids  liad  lifted  the  sheet. 

Pauline  liad  not  needed  to  see,  in  order  to 
be  sure  it  was  Yilpont. 

"  Follow  me,"  she  said  in  a  quiet  voice. 
"  Joseph,  run  for  a  doctor." 

The  bearers  looked  significantly  at  the  by- 
standers, but  when  Pauline  reiterated  the 
order,  they  obeyed.  She  led  them  into  what 
had  been  her  boudoir. 

"  I  pray  you  not  to  move  him  till  the  doctor 
has  come,"  she  said,  as  they  were  about  to  lay 
the  body  on  tlie  floor. 

There  was  so  much  pain  in  her  voice,  such 
uniraao-inable  sufferino-  iu  her  look,  as  none 
could  resist.  The  men  sat  down,  with  a  gnm 
compassion. 

In  another  five  minutes  a  doctor  came  in, 

but  not  Dr.  M ,  who  was  busy  elsewhere. 

Pauline's  eyes  w^ere  fastened  on  his  face  as  he 
leaned  over  the  body,  feeling  the  pulse,  apply- 
ing his  ear  to  the  heart.     She  sickened  with 


11 


* 


250  Jupiter's  daughtees. 

fear  when  he  drew  back  in  silence,  but  she 
found  strength  to  say, 

"  Try  to  do  soniethino;,"  and  then  she  herself 
began  to  chafe  one  of  the  poor  cold  hands. 

"  Take  her  away,"  whispered  the  doctor  to 
the  Sister. 

Sister  Madeleine  had  store  of  knowledge  of 
such  cases  of  hope  against  proof;  but  to  con- 
vince Pauline  of  the  usefulness  of  all  effort, 
she  held  a  small  hand-mii-ror  to  the  lips  of  the 
sup]josed  dead  man.  She  started,  and  signed 
to  the  doctor  ;  there  was  certainly  a  sliglit  haze 
on  the  glass. 

"  You  must  leave  us,  raadame,"  said  the 
doctor. 

Pauline  held  out  her  hands  with  a  gesture 
of  supplication,  and  then  turned  and  left  the 
room. 

In  darkness  and  solitude  Pauline  sat  for 
more  tlian  an  hour.  People  do  not  think  con- 
secutively in  sucli  moments — in  fact,  their  so- 
called  thoughts  resemble  rather  the  phantas- 
magorise  of  dreams.  The  past,  the  present, 
the  future  mingle  in  an  irrational  dance,  and, 
what  is  stranger  still,  even  while  the  heart  is 
beat  down  by  anguish  the  comic  element  will 
intrude  itself.  Look  how  Hamlet  jests  with 
the  grave-digger.  Assuredly,  in  this  hour, 
every  circumstance  that  connected  her  life 
with  Vilpont's,  returned  to  Pauline's  recollec- 
tion, and  assuredly  more  than  once  a  smile 
passed  over  her  pale  lips,  as  she  recalled  those 
pleasant  Sundays  at  Vignes  Ste.  Marie.     But 


THE   CKASH    OF   LIFE.  251 

amid  all  the  fliclcerings  of  memory,  the  waver- 
ing of  hopes  and  fears,  rose  one  piteous  desire 
to  be  friends  again,  to  hear  liim  say  he  forgave 
her  the  hardness  and  coldness  with  which  she 
had  met  his  kindness  in  their  last  interview. 
Why  had  she  been  thus  ?  She  shrank  from 
any  answer  with  a  flush  of  shame.  How  had 
she  dared  to  be  his  judge  ? 

At  last  Sister  Madeleine  came  in.  Pauline 
held  up  her  hand  before  her  face,  as  we  do 
when  dazzled  by  a  sudden  light.  The  tiny, 
glimmering  lamp  the  Sister  carried  could 
scarcely  have  affected  any  eyes. 

"  Well,  dear  Madame,  the  poor  officer 
breathes ;  but  oh,  moii  Dieu,  how  he  is 
wounded !  All  over  I  may  say — his  limbs 
awfully  shattered." 

"  I  am  glad,"  dropped  from  Pauline's  lips, 
thinking  only  that  he  still  lived. 

"  We  have  not  moved  him.  We  got  a  small 
bed  out  of  a  dressing-room." 

"  Is  he  conscious  ?  " 

The  sister  shook  her  head. 


252  Jupiter's  daughters. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

ONE   OF   life's   tangles. 

It  was  curious  but  true,  during  all  that 
month  of  liard  privation,  of  fatigue,  of  direful 
anticipation,  of  the  roar  of  cannon,  the  crash 
of  bombs,  Pauline  was  happier  than  she  had 
ever  been.  She  had  set  aside  self-communing, 
self-reproaches.  Time  enough  by  and  by,  she 
said,  and  gave  herself  up  blindly  to  a  foolish 
gladness. 

As  long  as  Yilpont  knew  no  one,  she  assisted 
to  nurse  him,  listening  with  awe  to  the  gabbling 
of  his  delirium — a  strange  medley,  sometimes 
shocking  her,  at  others  making  her  shed  tears. 

One  eveuing  she  had  been  left  to  watch  him 
while  he  slept.  It  had  become  an  absolute 
necessity  to  economize  oil  and  candle — gas  was 
no  longer  possible  ;  so  there  was  only  the  faint 
light  from  the  veilleuse,  by  which  she  could 
neither  see  to  read  nor  work.  She  had  been 
for  some  time  studying  the  strange,  uncouth 
shadows  made  by  the  pretty  furniture  of  the 
boudoir  on  walls  and  ceiling,  when  she  was 
roused  by  a  whisper — 

"  Pauline — madame." 

She  drew  back  tlie  bed-curtain. 

"  I  know  you,"  said  Vilpont. 

"  Hush  !     You  must  not  talk." 

The  caution  was  spoken  involuntarily,  and 


ONE  OF  life's  tangles.  253 

her  first  impulse  was  to  run  away.  He  made 
an  effort  to  hold  ont  his  hand  ;  nnresistingly 
she  gave  him  liers.  lie  turned  away  his 
head. 

"  You  are  better ;  yon  will  get  well,"  she 
said,  leaning  over  him ;  "  hnt  yon  mnst  not 
talk  or  exert  yourself  until  the  doctor  gives 
yon  leave."     She  drew  away  her  hand. 

"  Do  not  leave  me ; "  and  as  he  looked 
towards  her  she  saw  his  poor  thin  cheeks  wet 
with  tears. 

She  was  frightened  by  her  own  feelings  ; 
such  a  wonderfnl  joy,  and  yet  such  a  sharp 
pain,  overpowering  her. 

"  I  must  ring  for  your  real  nurse,  good  Sis- 
ter Madeleine." 

He  made  no  answer. 

From  this  day  he  began  to  gather  strength  ; 
Slowly,  indeed,  but  with  few  relapses.  It  was 
against  the  excessive  weakness  caused  b}^  loss 
of  blood  with  which  the  battle  had  to  be 
waged.  He  never  did  know  that  Pauline  was 
all  but  starved  to  give  him  more  food.  She 
daily  grew  paler,  thinner,  ha]3py,  poor  soul,  to 
give  np  her  strength  and  beauty  for  him.  But 
after  the  evening  he  had  recognized  her,  she 
never  again  watched  by  his  bed  ;  she  restricted 
herself  to  a  daily  visit  of  inquiry,  either  in 
company  with  tlie  doctor  and  Sister  Madeleine  ; 
yet  she  was  glad  with  an  nnknown  gladness. 
He  was  there,  nnder  the  same  roof ;  when 
night  came,  she  knew  slie  wonld  see  him  in  the 
morning. 


254  Jupiter's  daughters. 

And  so  the  time  went  on  to  Christmas.  In 
consequence  of  the  excessive  cold,  and  there 
beinii;  no  fuel  to  spare  for  heating  the  churches, 
no  midniglit  mass  was  performed.  But  Pau- 
line, as  so  many  other  women  did,  spent  the 
whole  day  in  church.  One  feeling  gave  in- 
tensity to  another.  Never  had  she  prayed 
more  fervently,  never  felt  her  spirit  so  ele- 
vated. She  mistook  her  enthusiasm  for  devo- 
tion, but  though  mistaken,  it  was  in  perfect 
good  faith. 

In  spite  of  cold  and  hunger  the  small  shop- 
keepers had  erected  the  usual  New  Year 
booths  and  stalls  along  the  Boulevards.  Very 
odd  presents  were  made  on  the  1st  of  January. 
Some  gave  tins  of  preserved  meat,  others  a 
little  flour  ;  one  great  man  carried  to  a  great 
lady  a  paper  bag  filled  Avitli  potatoes.  These 
were  the  gifts  of  the  rich  ;  what  the  poor  gave 
or  received  may  be  easily  imagined. 

Pauline  went  out,  accompanied  by  Joseph, 
that  forenoon,  to  see  what  she  could  find  for 
those  she  sheltered.  A  curious  assortment  she 
brought  back,  and  in  triumph,  too.  A  slice  of 
cheese,  two  eggs,  a  pound  of  elephant,  some 
nuts,  a  patty  of  unknown  contents,  and  so 
on.  , 

The  salle  d  tnanger  was  now  her  only 
sitting-room.  As  she  went  in  loaded  with  her 
parcels,  a  gaunt  man,  looking  like  a  i-esusci- 
tated  Lazarus,  leaning  on  Sistei-  Madeleine  with 
the  one  arm  he  could  use,  walked  a  step  or 
two  f(;rward  to  meet  her. 


ONE  OF  life's  tangles.  255 

"  Voila"  exclaimed  Sister  Madeleine,  in  a 
voice  of  unmitigated  triumph, 

"  A  bappy  new  year !  "  said  the  convales- 
cent. 

Pauline  dropped  rather  than  sat  down  on 
the  nearest  chair,  and  burst  into  tears,  so 
closely  does  joy  resemble  sorrow. 

"  Tiens,  tiens,  c'est  drole^^  observed  the 
sister,  and  trotted  away  for  her  panacea  of 
grief — Eau  de  Jlelisses. 

Very  wistful  were  the  looks  with  which 
Pauline  and  Yilpont  contemplated  each  other's 
faces.  Words  did  not  come  easily  from  either, 
and  when  he  spoke,  how  poor  what  he  said 
seemed  to  him,  compared  to  the  feelings  swell- 
ing his  heart. 

"  You  are  very  pale,  very  thin,"  his  voice 
husky  with  weakness  and  emotion. 

"  I  am  quite,  quite  well,"  she  answered 
with  a  fluttering  of  her  lips  that  would  fain 
have  been  a  smile.  "  Even  the  sound  of 
cannon  does  not  give  me  such  headaches  as 
the  exercising  did  at  St.  Gloi." 

'•Ah,  St.  Gloi!"  he  sighed;  and  added, 
"you  would  have  done  better  to  take  my  ad- 
vice and  return  thei'c,  though  perhaps  it 
would  have  been  worse  for  me." 
,  "  Not  a  perhaps  in  the  case  at  all,"  she  said, 
with  some  of  her  old  girlish  petulance,  and  a 
faint  flush  I'cstored  for  a  moment  her  girlish 
prettiness. 

But  the  time  was  gone  past  when  her 
beauty,  or  lack  of  it,  could  make  any  difler- 


256  JUPITEE  S   DAUGHTERS. 

ence  in  Yilpont's  sentiments  towards  her.  No 
one  knows  how  love  comes.  Sometimes  with 
a  sudden  shock  hke  lightning  in  a  dark  night, 
sometimes  growing  slowly  as  the  flower  from 
the  seed.  The  tender  preference  which  Vil- 
pont,  in  spite  of  many  follies,  had  always 
cherished  for  Pauline,  was  now  a  love  that 
filled  his  life.  He  had  no  hopes,  no  projects ; 
he  was  content,  as  it  were,  to  have  the  void  of 
his  heart  filled,  even  though  it  might  be  with 
bitter  pain.  She  was  worth  it,  and  better  re- 
gret what  is  sweetest  and  best,  than  have  a 
joy  which  leaves  remorse  and  a  longing  to 
forget. 

Pauline's  feelings,  being  those  of  a  woman, 
were  more  complex. 

"  A  little  thing  it  seemed  to  her  to  fight 
Against  hard  things,  that  she  might  see  the  light 
A  Little  longer,  and  rejoice  therein." 

A  strange,  unreal  life  it  was  for  these  two 
durinir  the  followino:  three  weeks.  You  might 
say  it  was  as  if  they  were  playing  parts  m 
some  drama  picturing  domestic  happiness. 
Many  a  time  Vilpont  would  feign  to  be  asleep, 
for  then  Sister  Madeleine  would  slip  away, 
and  leave  Pauline  on  guard.  He  loved  to 
watch,  from  under  his  half-closed  lids,  the  lit- 
tle figure  coiled  up  in  the  depths  of  a  large 
easy  chair.  He  had  felt  far  more  passionate 
emotion  in  past  years,  but  had  never  been 
moved  by  such  deep  tenderness  as  for  Pauline. 
His  heart  melted  within  him  at  the  sight  of 


ONE  OF  life's  tangles,  257 

the  small,  tliln  fiiiiTjers  laboring  at  coarse 
shirts  for  tlie  soldiers;  he  had  scarcelv  known 
so  keen  an  enjoyment  as  when  her  large,  soft 
eyes  suddenly  flashed  angrily  at  the  sound  of 
any  noise  which  might  disturb  him.  Tears 
welled  up  from  his  eyes  when  she  frowned 
back  an  intruder.  These  were  signs  he  could 
not  mistake;  they  did  him  good,  brought  out 
all  the  latent  generosity  of  his  character.  He 
was  as  much  on  his  guard  with  her,  as  though 
he  had  feared  she  was  capable  of  treachery. 

They  talked  freely  on  every  subject,  except 
of  the  past.  All  that  the  keenest,  bittei-est  ob- 
server could  have  laid  to  their  charge  was 
that  their  eyes  brightened,  their  lips  smiled 
when  they  niet.  But  these  hours  of  half  pain, 
half  joy,  were  counted. 

By  the  23d  of  January,  Paris  had  reached 
starvation  point,  even  for  those  who  had 
money.  Tumults  and  disorders  of  jarious 
kinds  were  of  daily  occurrence.  National 
Guards  seized  on  the  rations  meant  for  the 
very  poor,  and  it  was  evident  as  daylight  that 
worse  was  in  store,  should  there  be  no  capitu- 
lation, and  yet  it  was  equally  dangerous  to 
hint  at  such  a  possibility. 

The  circle  of  attack  pressed  closer  and 
closer,  the  firing  grew  daily  more  murderous. 

Hints  were  %'entured  on  in  the  Journal 
Offidel  that  the  situation  was  becoming  un- 
tenable. Then  a  note  of  unmistakable,  warn- 
ing sounded.  A  copy  of  Prussian  despatches 
was  published — Chanzy,  Faidherbe,  Bourbaki, 


258  Jupiter's  daughters. 

all  defeated.  Help  for  Paris  from  without,  a 
vain  imagination.  Patience  and  heroic  effort 
liad  reached  their  limit.  Must  men  perish 
like  rats  in  a  trap?  That,  or  the  alternative 
of  capitulation. 

Poor  Pauline,  how  all  the  rumors  current 
tortured  her.  Was  the  end  indeed  come,  and 
was  there  nothing  before  her  but  vain  regrets, 
nothing  better  to  wish  for  than  to  forget? 

As  for  Yilpont,  the  news  of  the  approach- 
ing capitulation  seemed  to  have  dealt  his 
death-blow.  Drops  of  agony  fell  from  his 
brow  as  he  sat  in  liis  helplessness  reading 
the  accounts  of  the  pending  negotiations.  All 
his  feelings  at  that  inoment  were  engrossed 
by  the  national  calamity. 

"  Oh,  that  I  had  died  at  my  post ! "  he  ex- 
claimed over  and  over  again. 

He  had  no  thought,  no  recollection,  but  of 
the  humiliation  of  his  country. 

Very  perfect  love  there  may  be  between 
man  and  woman,  never  perfect  sympathy. 
Man  feels  and  acts  independently,  woman 
through  man. 

Witli  a  spasm  of  pain  Pauline  recognized 
how  different  were  their  feelings.  Above 
and  beyond  all  her  grief  for  the  woes  of  her 
country,  was  anguish  for  her  coming  severance 
fi-om  him.  lie  had  forgotten  tJiat  his  cry  of 
grief  was  for  France  alone,  humiliated  France. 

True  woman,  alike  in  her  nobleness  as  in 
her  weakness,  she  fought  against  her  pain, 
soothing  him  with  sweet,  patient  words. 


nought's  had  wni:x  all  is  done,     259 

CHAPTER  XIY. 

nought's  had  wuen  all  is  done. 

The  sacrifice  was  accomplished — Paris  had 
capitulated.  ]^evertheless  the  sufferings  of 
the  population  were  not  yet  at  an  end.  For 
many  a  day  bread  continued  black  and  dis- 
gusting, and  all  food  difficult  to  be  obtained. 

On  th-  other  hand,  there  was  a  plentiful 
supply  of  "orders  of  the  day,"  complimenting 
army,  National  Guards,  and  Mobiles.  It  was 
highly  satisfactory  to  them  that  the  world 
should  be  informed  that  the  heroic  city  had 
succumbed  to  famine  alone. 

Astonishing  how  quickly  the  routine  of 
public  life  was  restored!  The  newspapers 
were  full  of  official  decrees  nominating  minis- 
ters, mayors,  secretaries— every  available  wall 
was_  covered  with  gayly  colored  placards  con- 
taining the  addresses  of  candidates  to  elect- 
ors. 

Postal  communication  was  also  re-estab- 
lished between  the  provinces  and  the  capital, 
and  as  soon  as  possible  Pauline  received  let- 
ters from  Leon  and  her  mother.  She  ought  to 
liave  been  glad,  but  she  turned  white  as  paper 
when  they  were  put  into  her  hand. 

Leon  wrote  affectionately,  but  evidently 
with  restraint.  M.  Rendu,  he  said,  would  set 
off  in  tv.-o  davs  to  bring  her  to  St.  Gloi.     Fur 


260  jupitek's  daughters. 

some  irood  reasons  it  had  been  decided  that  it 
was  better  for  him  not  to  go  just  now  to  Paris. 
Pauline  did  not  see  Vilpont  till  the  afternoon. 

"Papa  is  coming  to-morrow  to  take  me 
away."  She  had  determined  to  speak  cheer- 
fully, and  she  did  so ;  but  the  next  moment 
she  lost  her  self-command,  and,  bursting  into 
tears,  ran  (nit  of  the  room. 

After  this  she  saw  little  of  Yilpont.  If  she 
went  into  the  dining-room,  where  he  was,  she 
left  it  again  almost  immediately.  She  excused 
her  restlessness  by  laying  it  to  the  account  of 
preparations  for  her  journey. 

But  he  marked  and  understood  every  invol- 
untar}'  sign  of  heail-sickness — the  wide  opened 
eyes,  strained  to  keep  back  tears;  the  droop- 
ing, quivering  lips;  the  sentences  begun  so 
bravely,  dying  away  unfinished. 

Yilpont  was  a  cool-headed,  experienced  man 
of  the  world,  with,  when  he  so  chose  it,  a  per- 
fect mastery  over  himself.  As  he  sat  think- 
ing of  Pauline,  and  of  her  vain  struggle  to 
conceal  her  feelings  from  him,  the  thought 
vv'ould  intrude  of  how  such  and  such  a  one 
would  ridicule  his  not  takino-  all  the  ad  van- 
tages  of  the  situation.  But  our  actions  are  as 
often  determined  by  th.e  character  of  those  we 
have  to  deal  with  as  by  our  own.  Has  not 
some  one  written  that  love,  like  the  cameleon, 
takes  the  hue  of  what  it  feeds  on  ?  At  any 
rate,  the  feeling  Pauline  had  inspired  brought 
out  all  that  was  generous  and  honorable  in 
Yilpont. 


nought's  had  when  all  is  done.      261 

It  was  late,  past  the  hour  when  they  usually 
said  go:jd-iiight,  and  yet  Pauline  lingered. 

Sister  Madeleine's  evenino-  doze  had  been 
comfortably  prolonged,  through  the  long  si- 
lences of  her  companions. 

"  Will  you  come  nearer  to  my  sofa  ? "  asked 
Yilpont ;  and  as  Pauline  took  the  chair  he 
pointed  to,  he  went  on — "  There  are  many 
things  which  I  long  to  say  to  you,  and  yet  it 
may  be  as  well  to  leave  them  unsaid." 

"  Xever  mind  telling  me,"  faltered  Pauline. 
She  drew  her  breath  hard,  and  added,  "  Ton 
will  remain  here,  of  course.  The  Sisters 
have  agreed  to  stop  with  my  poor  invalids.     I 

sliould  " The  small,  thin  hands   were 

clasped  together — a  gesture  of  pain  and  en- 
treaty. 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  wish,"  he  replied 
very  gently. 

"  Let  me  hear  of  your  recovery."  She  spoke 
sharply  and  quickly,  in  a  manner  quite  unlike 
herself. 

''  Surely,"  he  answered.  "  May  I  tell  you 
my  plans  for  the  future  ? "  He  was  so  touched, 
nay,  his  worldly  armor  so  transpierced  by  her 
anguish,  that  what  he  said  came  from  the 
inspiration  of  the  moment.  She  bowed  her 
head,  listening,  with  her  hands  covering  her 
face. 

"  I  shall  go  to  Brittany  as  soon  as  I  am  able. 
"While  I  was  ill  and  sleepless,  I  used  often  to 
watch  the  shadows  cast  on  the  walls  of  your 
boudoir  by  the   pretty  furniture — grotesque, 


2G2  jupitek's  daughters. 

ugly  shadows — and  it  came  into  my  mind  tlia^ 
so  it  is  witli  many  alluring  joys  and  pleasures, 
that  they  also  have  ugly  attendant  shadows. 
Whatever  may  remain  of  my  life,  I  promise 
shall  be  free  of  pleasures  that  have  such  grim 
followers." 

She  made  no  answer.  A  hand  of  irori 
seemed  to  be  pressing  on  her  throat.  lie 
longed  to  snatch  her  to  his  breast  to  tell  her 
he  loved  her  with  a  love  he  had  never  felt  for 
any  other  woman.  With  a  rare  self-immola- 
tion he  put  aside  the  temptation.  Some  say 
that  temptation  is  only  resisted  when  not  strong 
enough;  but  Yilpont  was  accustomed  to  yield 
to  weak  as  well  as  strong  temptation.  In  this 
case  his  heroism  was  complete. 

Presentl}'  he  spoke  again,  and  with  well- 
assumed  cheerfulness.  "  I  have  not  forgotten 
your  criticism  of  my  play.  Yon  have  shown 
me  the  beautiful  side  of  life,  and  you  have  my 
undying  gratitude." 

She  shook  her  head.  Poor  soul !  she  could 
see  no  beauty  in  life  at  that  moment.  lie 
also  lapsed  into  silence.  Just  then  Sister 
Madeleine  snored  so  loud  that  she  woke  her- 
self. 

"  Tiensf  I  have  been  asleep,  and  kept  my 
poor  monsieur  up  so  late.  Madame,  you 
should  have  roused  me." 

"  Scold  me — I  alone  am  in  fault,"  said  Vil- 
pont.  There  was  a  strange  break  in  his  voice 
as  he  strove  to  speak  gayly. 

Pauline  did  not  wait  even  to  say  good-night. 


nought's  had  wiikn  all  l?  done.      263 

— "  I  sliall  die  !— I  shall  die !  "  she  said  aloud, 
as  she  threw  herself  on  her  bed. 

"  Has  madame  heard  any  bad  news  1  "  asked 
Zelie's  steady,  cold  voice. 

"  Go — I  must  be  alone ;  go,  go,  go  !  " 


264  jupitee's  daughtees. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


PATHWAYS  HEEE    DIVIDE. 

When  the  capitulation  of  Paris  became  a 
matter  only  of  shorter  or  longer  time,  Madame 
Rendu,  with  her  usual  determination  to  see 
her  way  clearly,  entered  on  the  discussion  of 
future  plans  with  her  son-in-law.  A  difficult 
task,  for  Leon  was  one  of  those  who  have  no 
objection  to  the  provisional,  and  a  very  decided 
aversion  de  metire  les  jpoints  sur  les  i s. 

He  found  it  vain,  however,  to  attempt  to 
parry  the  straight  thrusts  of  his  adversary,  and, 
forced  to  his  knees,  had  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it.  From  his  confession  it  was  obvious  that 
his  fine  fortune  was  wrecked,  only  enough 
saved  to  afford  his  wife  and  himself  the  mere 
necessaries  of  life.  After  many  twistings  and 
turnings,  in  an  effort  to  escape  his  doom,  he  at 
last  consented  that  the  hotel  in  Paris,  and  its 
cosily  fui-niture,  should  be  sold  as  soon  as  a 
purchaser  could  be  found,  and  that  he  and 
Pauline  should  make  their  future  home  in  her 
father's  house. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  not  object  to  our  hav- 
ing Zelie  and  Joseph  ?"  said  Leon  ;  "  Pauline 
must  have  a  maid," 

"Neither  of  those  Algerines  cross  my  tliresh- 
old,"  returned  Madame.     "  I  was  unwilling  to 


PATHWAYS    HERE    DIVIDE.  265 

interfere  before,  as  Pauline  did  not  complain 
— that  you  owed  either  to  lier  simplicity  or 
her  goodness  ;  nevertheless,  it  was  nnpardona- 
ble  in  you  ever  to  bring  that  woman  to  my 
danghter's  house." 

"'Why  !"  asked  Leon  in  a  raised  voice. 

But  madame  was  not  inclined  to  explain. 

She   restricted   her   answer,   like   the    clever 

woman  she  was,  to  a  repetition  of  her  verdict. 

"  Manage  how  you  like,  neither  Joseph  nor 

his  worse  half  come  here." 

They  were  standing  at  a  window  which 
looked  into  the  front  court  (for  the  Eendu's 
house  was  one  betw^een  cour  et  jardin),  and 
they  saw  Madame  de  Saye  coming  in. 

""^Ask  Madame  de  Saye  iov  her  opinion  of 
^ouv protegee^''  added  Madame  Eendu. 

"You  have  just  come  d  propos,  my  dear 
Stephanie,"  said  madame.  "  We  are  discuss- 
ing whether  or  not  to  bring  Madame  Zelie  and 
her  husband  here." 

Stephanie  held  up  botli  her  hands,  with  an 
expressive  "  O  madame  !  " 
Madame  Rendu  smiled. 
"  That  woman  made  my  skin  creep,"  went 
on  Stephanie  ;  "  and  I  am  sure  she  hates  Pau- 
line." 

"  ISTow  then,  Leon,  you  cannot  doubt  that 
Madame  de  Saye  is  an  impartial  umpire." 

"  They  cannot  be  sent  away  at  a  moment's 
notice,  as  if  they  were  thieves,  nor  left  with- 
out money,"  said  Leon  sulkily. 

"  Those  are  mere  details,"  returned  Madame 
13 


266  jupitek's  daugiitees. 

Eendu  loftily  ;  "the  gist  of  the  affair  is  their 
discharge  from  your  service." 

"  I  cannot  help  myself,  as  this  house  is  not 
mine,"  and  he  left  the  room. 

"  What  does  he  mean  ?  "  asked  Stephanie. 

"  That  he  has  mismanaged  his  fortmie,  and 
must  stay  here  and  nurse  the  remains  for  years 
to  come.  JSTo  use  trying  to  make  a  mystery  of 
what  must  come  to  be  known.  Thank  God, 
Pauline  need  not  feel  any  loss  of  comfort." 

Though  speaking  so  candidly  in  this  in- 
stance, Madame  Eendu  was  capable  of  keep- 
ing secret  what  need  not  be  known.  She 
could,  indeed,  as  the  result  proved,  really  keep 
a  secret — never  tell  it  to  human  ear. 

It  happened  that  by  the  same  post  which 
brouglit  the  first  letter  from  Pauline,  after  the 
capitulation,  had  come  one  for  Leon.  Madame 
Pendu  had  herself  taken  both  from  the  post- 
man's hands.  The  address  on  the  letter  for 
Leon  was  not  in  his  wife's  writing ;  the  post- 
mark, however,  showed  that  it  had  been  put 
into  the  same  box  as  that  from  Pauline.  Ma- 
dame Pendu  jumped  to  the  immediate  con- 
clusion that  Zelie  had  written  to  M.  Sul)ar, 
and  without  so  much  as  a  moment's  hesitation, 
she  opened  the  envelope,  read  the  contents, 
then  walked  to  her  own  room,  put  it  into  the 
fire,  and  watched  until  it  was  entirely  con- 
sumed. 

"  Thank  God ! "  she  exclaimed,  satisfied 
with  her  own  perfoi-mance. 

"  Que  de  inalheurs  eid  prevenus  le  men- 


PATHWAYS    IIKR.'C    DIVIDE.  267 

songe!''''  exclaims  a  Frcncli  writer.  Madame 
TI(mk1u  ao-reed  iu  the  sentiment  and  acted 
upon  it. 

It  was  the  contents  of  a  very  vile  letter  from 
Zelic  whicli  made  Madame  llendu  resolve  that 
not  Leon    hut  M.   Rendu   should  go  .to  fetch 
Pauline  without  delay  from  Paris.     She  could 
not  go  herself;  iirst,  because  she  thought  it 
absolutely  necessary  t(^  keep  Leon  under  her 
own  eye ;  and  in  the  next  place,  she  doubted 
her  self-command  holding  out  in  any  encoun- 
ter with  Zelie.     Much   to   her   surprise,  and 
also  to  her  infinite  satisfaction,  Leon  offered 
no  opposition   to  her  proposal  that  it   should 
be   M.    Rendu  who   went   to   fetch   Pauline. 
She   had  made  up  her  mind  to  employ  any 
means  short  of  murder  to  prevent  a  meeting 
between  him  and  Zelie.     lie,  on  his  side,  was 
equally    desirous    to    avoid    the    scenes    and 
reproaches    his   foster-sister   would   inflict   on 
him  ;    and  dreaded  also  the  concessions  she 
might  wring  from  him. 

it  was  strange,  but  true,  that  this  unprinci- 
pled woman — a  mere  serving-woman,  liable 
to  be  discharged  as  any  other  domestic — was 
the  pivot  on  which  the  future  comfort  of  this 
family  turned ;  and  stranger  still,  that,  save 
Madame  Rendu,  no  one  suspected  her  power 
of  doing  mischief. 

One  of  Leon's  messages  to  his  wife  con- 
cerned her  diamonds — she  was  to  bring  them 
with  her.     These  jewels  jSgured  prominently 


268  JUPITEk's    DArOIITEKS, 

in  his  calculations  of   the  property  lie  could 
still  call  his  own. 

Time  never  lao-s  when  it  is  brinfyino;  the 
liour  of  a  cruel  separation.  M.  Rendu  arrived 
exactly  when  he  was  expected,  and  the  day  fol- 
lowino;  Pauline  was  to  return  to  St.  Gloi.  Her 
father  was  sliocked  at  her  appearance :  she 
was  thin  to  emaciation,  with  that  look  of 
premature  age  wliich  severe  suffering  often 
gives  to  a  youthful  face.  But  wdiat  alarmed 
him  most  was  the  alternate  excitement  and 
prostration  of  her  spirits.  She  would  ask 
him  question  on  question,  and  forget  to  listen 
to  his  answers.  lie  watched  her  with  hourly 
i:icreasino;  dread  and  remorse.  lie  could 
not  hide  from  himself  that  lie  had  failed  to 
defend,  while  it  was  yet  time,  his  child's 
happiness — that  he  had  yielded  it  up  from 
weakness,  not  ignorance.  The  pang  that  now 
waning  liis  heart  was  the  recoil  of  the  blow  he 
had  helped  to  inflict.  He  learned  the  lesson 
we  all  have  to  learn,  that  the  ill  we  do  is 
never  unfruitful — we  must  share  its  conse- 
quences. He  learned  that  any  failure  to 
respect  the  rights  and  feelings  of  our  fellows 
is  sure  to  weigh  forever  on  the  conscience. 

M.  Rendu  a2;reed  to  all  the  arransrements 
Pauline  proposed  with  regard  to  the  Sisters, 
to  the  sick,  and  the  servants,  reiterating  her 
invitation  to  Vilpont  to  remain  where  he  was 
as  lona:  as  convenient  t/)  him.  He  neither 
thwarted  her  by  advice,  nor  troubled  her  by 
opposition.     His  one  paramount  wish  was  to 


PATHWAYS    HERE    DIVIDE.  269 

have  her  once  more  safely  under  his  roof, 
away  from  the  peculiar  trials  of  her  present 
position. 

"  How  does  madame  intend  to  carry  the 
diamonds?"  asked  Zelie,  ostentatiously  dis- 
playing them  as  she  s]')oke, 

"  My  father  will  take  charge  of  them ;  they 
can  all  go  in  my  hand-bag." 

"  And  pray,  madame,  how  long  are  all  these 
people  and  the  nurses  to  remain  here  ?" 

"  Till  the  sick  are  well  enough  to  go  away  ; 
there  are  but  few  remaining  now." 

"  And  who  is  to  provide  their  food,  and  wait 
on  them  ? " 

"  My  father  will  give  you  any  money  you 
require,  and  the  service  will  go  on  as  if  I  were 
here." 

"  I  was  engaged  to  superintend  Monsieur 
Subar's  household,  and  not  to  attend  to  peoj)l6 
picked  up  in  the  streets." 

Pauline  looked  full  into  the  insolent  face 
confronting  hers,  and  said  M-itli  spirit — 

"  Zelie,  I  have  borne  a  good  deal  from  you 
on  Monsieur  Subar's  account,  but  now  I  tell 
you  plainly  that  you  will  never  again  be  in  my 
service." 

"  Madame  has  no  power  to  discharge  me. 
I  take  no  dismissal  but  from  Monsieur  Subar; 
and  if  madame  would  take  my  advice,  it  would 
be  not  to  nmke  me  her  enemy." 

"Do  you  think  fi'iends  are  manufactured 
through  fear,  Zelie?"  and  Pauline  looked  at 
her   with   a   smile   of   pity.     "  However,   the 


270  Jupiter's  daughters. 

question  is  not  one  that  interests  me  jnst  now. 
Be  so  good,  when  you  have  put  the  diamonds 
into  the  bag,  to  bring  mc  the  key,  and  hjck  the 
dressing-room  door  inside.  After  that  I  shall 
nut  require  to  see  you  again." 

Zelie  answered  with  a  sulky  "  Bien,  madamc." 
Every  tinge  of  color  liad  left  her  cheeks. 

Panline  hurried  away,  more  frightened  than 
she  would  have  liked  to  confess. 

It  was  evenino"  before  IM.  Rendu  sent  for 
Joseph ;  he  tliought  it  best  to  deal  with  the 
man  alone.  In  fact,  Josepli  had  always 
behaved  res])ectfnlly  to  Madame  Subar.  His 
fault  was  the  allowing  his  wife  to  guide 
him  against  his  better  feeling — a  fault  for 
which  M.  Rendu  might  have  a  sympathetic 
compassion. 

Joseph  was  durabfoundered  at  receiving  his 
dismissal  and  Zelie's  in  settled  terms. 

Madame  Rendu  had  persuaded  Leon  to 
copy  with  his  own  hand  the  letter  she  had 
prepared  foi-  him.  81ie  had  made  no  oljjection 
to  the  sum  he  proposed  to  pay  yearly  to  Z(;lie ; 
nor  to  his  paying  their  way  back  to  Algiers 
if  tliey  chose  to  return  thitlier.  She  liad 
made  up  her  mind  tliat  to  get  rid  of  these 
people  some  sacrifice  of  money  would  be  inevi- 
table. 

"  When  must  we  leave,  sir?"  asked  Joseph. 

"  There  is  no  immediate  huri-y — at  your 
convenience.  You  and  yonr  wife  will  go 
over  the  inventoiy  with  the  person  Moiisieur 
Subar  cmplfjys  to  effect  a  sale  of  this  house 


PATinvAYS  uvMv:  DiviDi:.  271 

mid  furniture.  Monsieur  and  Madame  Subar 
Avill  reside  with  us  at  St.  Clloi,  and  thus,  you 
understand,  will  not  require  your  services. 
Everythinu  will  be  d(>ne  by  Monsieur  Subar  to 
render  this  ehangc  no  hiss  to  you." 

AVith  a  jH)Hte  '' Good-niijjht,"'  and  not  a 
little  ]>leased  at  haviui^  aeeoni|dished  this  dis- 
agreeable business  si>  easily,  M.  liendu  went 
up  to  the  room  he  was  to  occupy — close  to  that 
of  his  daughter. 


272  Jupiter's  daughters. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

DARK    HOURS. 

The  strain  ou  Pauline's  feelings  during  that 
sad  day  had  worn  out  what  little  sti-ength 
still  remained  to  her;  she  was  as  wearied  in 
body  as  though  she  had  walked  ten  miles. 
Nevertheless,  when  she  went  to  bed,  she  did 
not  at  once  fall  asleep.  She  was  troubled  by 
all  sorts  of  vague  fears.  She  fancied  she 
heard  stealthy  footsteps,  the  creaking  of  doors 
cautiously  opened ;  then  came  tlie  distinct 
howl  of  a  dog,  as  it  seemed,  beneath  her 
windows.  The  dim  light  of  her  veiUeuse  all 
at  once  gave  a  sinister  splutter,  and  went  out ; 
and  at  the  same  instant  it  occurred  to  her  that 
sbe  had  forgotten  to  lock  her  bedroom  door. 
"While  she  lay  struggling  for  courage  to  get 
np  and  light  a  candle,  heavy  sleep  overtook 
her.  She  knew  afterwards  that  she  could  not 
have  slept  more  than  a  few  minutes  when  she 
was  awoke  l)y  a  loud  crash.  At  the  first 
moment  Pauline  took  the  sound  for  the  famil- 
iar one  of  the  bursting  of  a  bomb,  a  palpable 
danger  she  could  face.  She  seized  her  bell,  and 
continued  rino-ino;  it  till  she  heard  the  hurrvinc: 
of  many  feet  on  the  stairs.  Then  she  jumped 
up, lighted  lier  candle,  and  hurrying  on  a  dress- 
ing gown,  joined  the  group  gathered  on  the 
landing  before  her  door. 


DARK  HOURS.  273 

M.  Rendu  was  a  droll  enough  sight  in  his 
nightcap,  and  Sister  Madeleine  was  not  behind 
him  in  the  grotesqueness  of  her  gear.  Joseph, 
too,  with  his  head  in  a  yellow  foulard  was 
more  like  a  gorilla  than  a  smart  valet ;  but 
every  one  was  too  much  alarmed  to  be  tickled 
by  one  another's  appearance. 

"  Look  there  !  "  suddenly  cried  Sister  Made- 
leine, raising  her  arm  with  a  gesture  d  la  Sid- 
dons. 

Instead  of  looking,  every  one  huddled  to- 
gether, and  strove  not  to  see  what  might  be 
some  direful  siglit. 

The  splendid  mirror  on  the  first  landing  of 
the  great  staircase  was  shivered  from  top  to 
bottom.  At  the  foot  of  tlie  stairs  lay  a  bed- 
room candlestick,  the  candle  it  had  held  some 
yards  off.  It  was  perfectly  clear  that  the 
candlestick  had  been  hurled  right  into  the 
centre  of  the  mirror. 

But  by  wliom  \ — and  why  ? 

Sister  Madeleine  came  quietly  to  M.  Rendu, 
and  showed  him  something  she  had  picked  up. 
It  was  one  of  those  curved  Algerine  daggers 
used  by  the  common  people  in  Algeria. 

"  Joseph,"  called  out  M.  Rendu,  holding  up 
the  dagger  in  the  sight  of  all,  "  does  this  be- 
long to  you  ?  " 

Joseph  looked  and  trembled  :  "  I  know  noth- 
ing about  how  it  came  here,  sir." 

"  I  miss  your  wife,"  put  in  Sister  Madeleine, 

"Is  Zelie  not  with  you,  Madame?"  asked 
the  poor  fellow,  turning  to  Pauline. 
13* 


274  jutiteb's  daughtees. 

"  I  have  uot  seen  her  since  the  afternoon," 
said  Pauline. 

"  Go  and  look  for  her,  Joseph,"  said  M. 
Hendu.  "  And  now,  my  good  friends,"  he 
continned,  "  let  ns  all  go  back  to  our  beds,  and 
thank  God  there  is  no  o-reater  harm  done  than 
the  breaking  of  a  mirror." 

As  Pauline  and  her  father  were  going  up- 
stairs, Sister  Madeleine  came  close  to  them, 
and  whispered,  "  That  woman  did  it,  and  from 
sheer  terror.  I  know  of  a  man,  who,  after  he 
had  murdered  his  master  and  mistress,  mistook 
his  own  face  in  a  glass  he  was  j>assing  for 
some  one  else,  and  threw  the  bloody  knife  at 
his  own  reflection — he  confessed  it  after- 
wards." 

"  Pray  do  not  tell  me  anything  more,"  said 
Pauline,  "  but  stay  with  me  till  morning.  I 
am  too  frightened  to  be  alone." 

"  I  will  send  you  Sister  Prudence.  I  must 
go  back  and  quiet  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  I 
turned  the  key  on  him  when  I  ran  out  on 
hearing  the  bell  ring  so  violently.  Lucky  all 
the  invalids  are  out  of  the  salon  ;  a  fine  busi- 
ness it  might  have  been  with  all  those  men 
looking  on !  "  and  away  bustled  Sister  Made- 
leine. 

It  was  a  most  mysterious  occurrence.  The 
bag  containing  the  diamonds  lay  on  the 
toilette-table  as  Pauline  had  seen  it  when  she 
went  to  bed.  The  small  key  was  in  her 
purse ;  the  lock  was  a  patent  one,  and  it  was 
quite  intact. 


DARK   nOUES.  275 

Could  Zelic  have  contemplated  a  crime 
■worse  than  robbery  ? — and  if  so,  what  had  de- 
deterred  lier  ? 

"  Do  not  send  for  the  police,  papa,"  said 
Pauline  ;  "  what  does  a  cracked  glass  matter. 
If  you  do,  we  shall  be  detained.  Let  us  get 
awav  from  that  terrible  woman,  or  somethino; 
worse  will  happen." 

Sister  Madeleine  was  convinced  some  mis- 
chief had  been  done,  though  not  yet  discov- 
ei-ed.  "  Was  Madame  Subar  sure  she  had  her 
diamonds  ? " 

"  There's  the  key,  and  there's  the  bag,"  said 
Pauline. 

"  Will  you  not  look  to  see  they  are  really  in 
the  hag  ?  "  persisted  the  sister. 

Pauline  hesitated,  changing  color  rapidly. 
Then  she  said  slowly,  "  No ;  if  they  are  stolen, 
as  1  see  you  suspect,  papa  will  send  for  the 
police,  and  she  will  come  back  and  do  what 
she  meant  to  do  last  night — I  cannot  venture. 
O  Sister  Madeleine  !  help  me  to  get  away." 

There  was  nothino-  to  be  said  in  answer  to 
such  an  appeal,  and  Sister  Madeleine  tried  to 
be  satisfied  by  repeating  that  it  was  no  busi- 
ness of  hers.  Yilpont  also  was  unwilling  to 
let  the  matter  rest  without  further  investiga- 
tion ;  but  he  also  felt  he  had  no  right  to  press 
his  advice  on  M.  E,enclu  and  his  daughter. 

The  last  moment — that  terrible  last  moment 
of  farewell — came  with  its  hard  punctuality. 
Pauline  went  into  the  salle  d  nianger  leaning 
on  her  father's  arm  to  say  good-by  to  Yilpont. 


276  Jupiter's  daughters. 

She  had  left  herself  but  a  few  short  minutes. 
"  1  shall  get  through  it,  because  I  must,"  she 
liad  kept  on  all  the  morning  saying  to  herself, 
with  a  dread  as  to  her  own  strength. 

Yilpont  saw  the  shudder  that  was  shaking 
the  whole  thin  form.  With  a  sad  effort  at 
self-command,  he  said,  "Bon  voyage,  chere 
madame." 

She  said  nothing,  just  glanced  towards  him. 

They  parted  as  well-bred  acquaintance 
might  have  done. 


TWO    WATS    OF   LOOKING   AT   TUINGS.       277 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

TWO    WAYS    OF    LOOKING   AT    THINGS. 

"  It's  nobody's  business  but  ours." 

Few  amono;  us  have  not  said  this  once  at 
least  in  our  lives,  and  probably  with  always 
file  same  result  of  finding  that  our  neighbors 
insist  on  having  a  finger  in  our  pie. 

Madame  Rendu  ought  to  have  known  better 
than  to  make  such  a  speech.  Nevertheless, 
she  did  say  those  very  words  to  her  husband. 

Poor  lady  !  she  had  to  submit  to  be  ques- 
tioned, and  to  explain  why  this  had  happened 
and  why  that  had  not,  as  if  her  interrogators 
had  been  so  many  juges  d^ instruction.  She 
was,  however,  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  ad- 
mirable alike  in  her  reticences  as  in  her  confi- 
dences. 

Undoubtedly  glad  as  they  were  to  have 
Pauline  safely  back  among  them,  the  St. 
Gloisians  felt  they  had  some  right  to  resent 
her  inopportune  seclusion. 

"  It  is  according  to  the  doctor's  orders,  I 
aBsure  you,"  said  ^ladame  Rendu.  "  lie  has 
sent  her  to  bed,  and  desired  she  should  be  kept 
as  quiet  as  possible." 

"  One  would  have  thought  the  happiness  of 
being  again  with  her  husband  would  have  been 
her  best  doctor,"  observed  Madame  Cham- 
baud. 


278  jupitek's  daughtees. 

"  Poor  jMonsienr  Subar  says  Pauline  is  only 
nervous,  and  that  Madame  Pendu  encourages 
her  in  thinkino-  herself  ill."  That  was  Ste- 
phanie's  account — and  every  one  joined  in  the 
chorus  of  "  Poor  Monsieur  Subar  !" 

Leon  being  thus  an  object  of  commiseration, 
became  more  popular  tJian  ever. 

In  the  privacy  of  her  own  room,  alone  with 
M,  Rendu,  madame  indemnified  herself  for  all 
the  restraint  she  endured  in  public. 

"  Such  fair  prospects,  and  all  lost — Leon 
throwing  away  a  princely  fortune  like  an  idiot ; 
Pauline  fretting  herself  to  death ;  and  tltat 
man  (alluding  to  Yilpont)  spared  when  so 
many  worthier  were  killed.  It's  like  a  doom 
on  us." 

Madame  Pendu's  disappointments  were  un- 
deniable. But  she  had  this  comfort,  that  she 
attributed  them  entirely  to  the  faults  of  others, 
and  honestly  believed  herself  clear  of  all  mis- 
takes or  blame. 

"  I  begin  to  doubt  the  wisdom  of  parents 
choosing  for  their  children,"  said  M.  Pendu. 

The  assertion  of  such  a  doubt  by  her  hus- 
band stru(;k  Madame  Pendu  dumb  for  some 
seconds.  Then  she  said  with  the  firmness  that 
conviction  gives,  "  It's  not  our  system  that  is 
wrong,  but  the  half- measures  that  have  gained 
ground  among  us.  Girls  should  be  married  as 
tliey  were  formerly,  before  mixing  in  the 
world." 

"It's  a  puzzle,"  sighed  M.  Pendu. 

"  No   puzzle  to   me,"   she   said.     "  Parents 


TWO    WAYS    OF   LOOKTXG    AT   THINGS.       279 

must  be  the  best  judge  of  what  is  best  for  their 
cliildreu,  or  what  is  the  use  of  having  experi- 
ence." 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,  I  have  come  to  have 
little  faith  in  the  uses  of  experience,  whether 
in  the  government  of  a  family  or  of  a  nation." 

"  Ah !  M'ell,  thank  God  I  have  no  more 
daughters  to  marry." 

When  Madame  Rendu  heard  of  what  had 
occurred  on  the  night  of  Zelie's  disappearance, 
she  said,  "  I  am  afraid,  Leon,  your  ])Totegee 
has  had  no  faith  in  your  promises,  and  has 
helped  herself  to  a  provision  for  her  future 
wants.  Depend  on  it  the  diamonds  will  not 
be  found  in  the  bao-." 

"  AVe  shall  see  that.  I  would  stake  my  life 
on  Zelie's  honesty,"  he  replied  hotly. 

"  Take  care,  my  son,  take  care,"  retorted  the 
lady;  "such  warmth  is  suspicious.  Where  is 
the  bag  ? " 

It  was  in  Pauline's  room,  and  there  it  was 
opened.  At  the  sight  of  the  jewel-cases,  Leon 
exclaimed  triumphantly,  "  You  see,  madanie  ! 
Ah  !  poor  Zelie." 

Madame  Rendu  was  surprised,  and  it  must 
be  owned  to  her  credit  that  she  was  not  vexed 
at  being  proved  wrong. 

Leon  drew  forth  the  cases  with  the  loving 
hand  of  proprietorship.  lie  opened  one,  and 
set  it  down  as  if  it  had  burned  his  fingers.  lie 
took  out  another  and  another — alas  !  all  empty. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that  Madame 
Rendu  had  been  moved  to  unseemly  mirth  ; 


280  JUPITEK  S   DAUGHTERS. 

but  at  the  sight  of  Leon's  appalled  face  she 
bui'st  into  loud  laughter. 

He  looked  at  her  in  alarm. 

"  Don't  be  frio'htened,  I  am  not  in  hysterics. 
Poor  Leon  !  how  lucky  your  life  does  not  de- 
pend on  that  yellow  woman's  honesty." 

It  gratified  her  feminine  instincts  to  note 
Zelie's  personal  defects. 

"  IIow  do  you  know  Zelie  was  the  thief  1 " 
asked  Leon  in  a  fierce  voice.  He  was  smarting 
under  two  blows — betrayed  confidence,  and  a 
great  loss  of  propert3^  His  w^ords  were  an 
outcome  of  pain,  and  had  no  definite  meaning. 
He  stopped  literally  from  terror,  at  the  fury  in 
Madame  Eendu's  eyes.  She  also  was  writhing 
under  the  dominion  of  a  hidden  wound. 

"  You  are  very  hard  on  me,"  said  Leon  after 
a  pause.  "  You  should  make  allowances  for  a 
man  in  such  trouble.  Even  Pauline  does  not 
seem  to  care  wdiat  happens  to  me,  and  yet  it  is 
lier  fault." 

Pauline  had  hitherto  kept  silence  ;  her  poor 
pale  face,  white  as  the  pillow  it  lay  on,  ought 
to  have  pleaded  against  any  attack.  Now  she 
said,  "  I  do  care  very  much ;  and,  Leon,  you 
do  not  know  how  painful  it  was  to  me  to  have 
Zelie  put  as  it  were  in  power  over  me.  I  bore 
it  patiently,  to  please  you." 

"  I  am  never  likely  to  have  power  to  do  any- 
thing I  please  again,"  he  said,  and  left  the 
room. 

"  A  hundred  thousand  francs  gone  at  one 
stroke  !  "  exclaimed  Madame   Rendu,   as  she 


TWO   WAYS   OF   LOOKING    AT   THINGS.        281 

gathered  togetlier  the  prctty,  velvet-lined 
cases. 

The  theft  of  the  diamonds  was  not  to  be  con- 
cealed ;  it  was  the  town  talk,  and  everybody's 
business.  Stephanie  de  Saye  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  saying,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  "  I 
told  Pauline  how  it  would  be.  I  warned  her 
ugainst  tliat  woman,  but  she  would  not  listen 
to  me  ;  and  now  I  should  not  wonder  if  all  her 
illness  comes  from  some  African  poison." 

Tliat  was  easy  of  belief ;  but  what  no  one 
could  understand  was  the  hesitation  shown  by 
the  Subars  and  Rendus  in  putting  the  matter 
into  the  hands  of  the  police.  M.  Rendu,  in- 
deed, was  at  iirst  urgent  to  do  so,  but  Pauline 
pleaded  hard  against  any  step  of  the  kind  being 
taken. 

"  She  meant  to  kill  me  that  night,  papa.  If 
you  let  her  alone,  she  will  keep  out  of  our  way  ; 
If  you  attack  her,  I  shall  never  be  safe." 

To  M.  Pendu's  amazement,  and  to  that  of 
Leon,  Madame  Pendu  supported  Pauline's 
views. 

"  It's  paying  dear  for  immunity,"  she  said, 
"  but  we  shall  be  free  of  her  pitch."  That  de- 
stroyed letter  to  Leon  rankled  in  her  mind. 
For  worlds  she  would  not  have  Pauline  and 
Zelie  brought  as  adversaries  before  a  public 
tribunal.  An  unprincipled,  dishonest  woman 
would  stick  at  no  calumny  to  revenge  herself. 

As  for  Leon,  he  could  be  got  to  say  nothing 
further  than,  "  Do  as  you  please  ;  as  I  said  be- 
fore, I  have  now  no  power." 


282  Jupiter's  daughters. 

How  it  would  have  ended  no  one  can  tell. 
The  stoiy  might  have  spread  far,  and  justice 
might  have  interfered  whether  the  injured 
parties  wished  it  or  not ;  but  the  ill  wind  which 
raised  the  Commune  put  an  effectual  stop  to  all 
proceedings  in  this  matter. 

■  •  •  •  • 

Two  years  have  gone  by,  and  the  Subars 
still  make  their  home  with  M.  andMme.  Rendu. 
Leon's  ambition  is  satisfied  with  being  the 
mii-ror  of  fashion  in  St.  Gloi— the  admired  of 
all  beholders.  So  true  is  it  that  we  are  con- 
stantly changing  the  scale  by  which  we  meas- 
ure the  liappiness  or  unhappiness  of  our  life. 

ISTothing  more  has  been  heard  of  Zelie  or  the 
diamonds. 

Ivladame  de  Saye's  last  piece  of  news  is  that 
the  M-«rquis  yile  Kergeac  is  at  Rome,  and  is 
al>out  to  take  the  vows  in  the  Dominican  con- 
vent there. 

These  two  years  have  worn  smooth  the  rough 
sij^tjf  Pauline's  sorrow.  A  great  grief  brings 
in  its  train  repose.  All  pain,  all  longing,  must 
have  an  end  ;  we  die  or  we  grow  resigned. 

At  first  Pauline  sought  for  comfort  in  the 
practice  of  severe  penances.  She  tried  to 
harden  herself  by  a  constant  com1)at  against 
self-pity.  She  did  daily  battle  with  her  in- 
clinations. When  she  would  have  welcomed 
solitude,  she  went  into  society ;  when  silence 
would  have  been  grateful  to  her,  she  conversed. 
Hearts  can  he  very  sad,  very  repentant,  while 
the  lips  smile  and  the  tongue  talks  pleasantly  ; 


TWO   WAYS    OF   LOOKING    AT   THINGS.        283 

just  as  there  may  be  a  hair  shirt  beneath 
gauze  aud  lace.  She  had  set  herself  to  win  a 
victory,  nndertaken  the  greatest  of  all  con- 
quests, that  of  her  rebellious  heart ;  undertaken 
to  bring  her  feelings  into  subjection  to  duty. 
AVho  can  doubt  her  ultimate  triumph,  wheu  her 
war-cry  is — God  toill,  I  shall. 

"Prayers  are  the  daughters  of  Jupiter," 
said  the  ancients.  The  moderns  say,  "  Hoc 
vult  DeusP 


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